


Shapes Like Puzzle Pieces

by safeandwarm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angels are known, Community: spn_adambang, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, M/M, Physical Abuse, Substance Abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandwarm/pseuds/safeandwarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen-year-old Adam Milligan has a dead mother, an abusive father, and older brothers who go back and forth between ignoring him and forcing their presence on him. The one bright spot in his life is his best friend Michael, but Michael is an angel, and many people, Michael's father included, look down upon human/angel friendships. When Adam begins to realize that he has feelings for Michael, Michael reveals that his father plans to bond him to another angel, and that he's agreed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shapes Like Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose/gifts).



> All thanks to my beta, Ivy, for putting up with my insanity and for being generally awesome.

They sit at the top of a playground, night burying them and the park in an inky darkness that hides them from the rest of the world. Here, in the long-since deserted park, Adam can pretend like it’s just the two of them; can pretend that at home he’s not going to find his father drunk on the couch or that he has half-brothers across town who hate him; can pretend he has no home at all, save for the top of the playground with Michael by his side.

 

He wonders if Michael is pretending the same thing.

 

Adam holds out the half-empty beer bottle that he swiped from the fridge, but Michael just shakes his head. The angel has only tried alcohol once and it hadn’t affected him at all, but Adam keeps offering in the chance that Michael might take him up on it. Instead, Michael goes back to drawing on the slide with his black Sharpie. It looks like a protection sigil to Adam, but he got a C in his spells and sigils class last year, so he’s not going to bet on it.

 

“Dad is talking about pulling me out of school again,” Michael says without looking up. This isn’t the first time his dad has threatened this, but it still worries Adam every time. There was an attack on an angel in a town about half an away—they dumped holy oil on him and lit him on fire.

 

It was only a matter of time before his dad pulled him out for good.

 

Angels and humans didn’t really interact much outside of high school and occasionally college. Angels were sent to private schools or tutors until puberty, when they gained the ability to cloak their wings, their most vulnerable part. Most angels stay in their private wings-only schools, but a few go to the public schools.

 

Michael goes to Lawrence, one of only five angels in the whole high school.

 

“We could run away.” It’s the same thing Adam always says when his dad or Michael’s dad try to keep them apart. They haven’t had to yet, but Adam has a bag packed and hidden under his bed in the event he ever needs to leave in a hurry.

 

Despite the stigma attached to human-angel interaction, Michael is his best friend. The only person, besides his mom, who he has ever felt at ease around.

 

“He’s not going to pull me out of school. He just likes to see me worry that he’s going to. He’s kind of a douchebag.”

 

“That explains why all your brothers are dicks. It’s genetic.”

 

Michael snorts, looking up from his artwork on the slide to grab Adam’s left wrist, the one not holding the stolen bottle of Pabst. The felt tip tickles the sensitive skin as Michael draws loops and lines. When he’s done, he blows a cool breath, helping the ink to dry.

 

When Michael finally releases his wrist, Adam holds it close to his face and squints in the darkness to see what he’s drawn. It looks like Enochian, but Adam had taken Spanish as his foreign language freshman year so he has no clue.

 

“What does it say?”

 

“It’s my name,” Michael says, his lips lifting into that little smirk that he does when he’s pleased with himself.

 

“You branded me?” Adam asks. “Does this mean we’re angel married now?”

 

Michael’s smirk blends into a smile. “Of course not. This is merely a statement of intent.” It is a joke between them, like them running away together. One or the other is always proposing marriage.

 

“Human-angel marriages are illegal in forty-seven states.”

 

“Only according to your government, which most angels do not see as the highest authority.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s not like your people are big on human-angel unions. Your father would banish you before he’d let you marry me.”

 

His smile finally fades away, leaving only Michael’s usual stoicism. “That’s probably true.”

 

“It’s probably for the best we don’t get married. My dad’s an alcoholic; that means our kids would have, like, a one-in-four chance of being one too.”

 

“Angels can’t be alcoholics.”

 

“The kid would be half-human.”

 

Michael sighs. “Did you pay any attention at all in your angelology class?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Procreation for angels rarely involves sex. It is a blending of graces, or grace and soul in the case of a human-angel coupling, and while DNA is a factor, angelic genes eradicate impurities, such as genetic disorders. Your father’s love for drinking cheap beer and passing out in the living room would not be passed on to any children you and I might hypothetically produce.”

 

“So there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get married?”

 

“Except for being teenagers with no money to support ourselves and fathers who would disapprove?”

 

“Of course besides that,” Adam says. His father disapproves of eighty percent of what he does.

Pleasing him takes more energy than Adam is willing to expend.

 

“Then, no, there is no reason why we shouldn’t enter into matrimony. Though isn’t it customary that you have a ring and lower yourself to your knees?”

 

“Just one knee, Mike. Two knees implies something different,” Adam says with a smile. “And we don’t need a ring, you already branded me.”

 

“I lied about the branding thing,” he says. “What does two knees mean? Is it another sexual thing? Everything you humans do is a sexual thing.”

 

The angel, for all his seemingly limitless knowledge about the universe, seems so naïve when it comes to sex, or as he frequently calls it, “carnal activities.” “Yeah, it’s a sex thing.”

 

“Of course.”

 

A cold wind rustles the branches of the bare trees surrounding the playground and Adam shivers in his thin jacket. Michael scoots closer and wraps an arm around Adam’s shoulder, pulling him close. Michael, though impervious to the rise and fall of temperature, is always attuned to how Adam is affected.

 

“It’s not normal for two guys to cuddle.”

 

 

“It’s not normal for an angel and a human to be friends and hang out in the park drinking beer and writing Enochian on each other either. Should we stop doing that as well?”

 

Adam snuggles—yes, snuggles—closer to Michael’s warmth. “I wasn’t saying to stop.”  He can’t

imagine having a normal relationship with anyone after being around Michael. They got along instantly from the first moment they were partnered up in literature class to analyze “The Windhover.” So, while maybe it wasn’t ‘normal’ to cuddle, nothing in Adam’s life is normal, and he really doesn’t want it to be, not if it means getting to keep Michael.

 

He leans into Michael’s side and lets the silence overtake them. Adam hears a sound like a rush of wind but feels nothing—in fact, just the opposite. He can’t feel any wind, though he can still hear it rustling the trees.

 

“Are you doing magic tricks again?” He’s seen Michael flicker the lights and open doors with his mind before, once or twice, when he was angry.

 

Michael hmmms. He always pouts when Adam calls his powers ‘tricks.’ But Adam can’t help himself.

 

“It’s my wings. They’re shielding you.”

 

Adam lets out a shaky breath. Despite knowing intellectually that Michael is an angel and seeing him flicker lights that one time, Michael could be any guy in their grade. He reads Vonnegut and watches Star Wars and steals Adam’s cheese fries. He looks like any other guy—attractive, yes, and well-defined muscles, but normal.

 

Adam has never seen Michael’s wings, and this was the first time that he could recall Michael using them, at least to his knowledge. And he’s using them to keep Adam warm.

 

“Can I see them?”

 

“It’s not proper for an adult angel to show their wings to anyone but their mate or a healer, in the case of emergencies.”

 

Adam has to resist the scoff rising up his throat. “Since when have you cared about what’s proper?”

 

“Please,” Michael says, his voice low and quiet, “our wings are sacred. I know you can’t understand what it means, but don’t ask this of me.”

 

He sounds like he’s begging, but Michael doesn’t beg, never has. He’s always so level, so in control.

 

“Okay, Mike. I won’t,” Adam mumbles, a flash of guilt searing in his stomach. “Sorry.”

 

When Michael speaks again, his tone is lighter. “Marry me and then you can see them.”

 

Adam snorts. “That’s like all those guys who marry their purity ring-wearing girlfriends just so they can have sex.”

 

“While I understand the metaphor, the guys in your story could have sex with their girlfriends without any repercussions.”

 

“Me seeing your wings would have repercussions?”

 

 “Why couldn’t you have listened in your angelology class?” Michael mutters to himself. He pauses, taking a deep breath in what Adam guesses to be preparation.  “After a union ceremony, the joined couple will embark on a period of bonding.”

 

“Like a honeymoon?” Adam asks.

 

“Somewhat like a honeymoon. There is sexual coupling, but it’s not the main focus, like it is for humans. Angel couples show each other their wings, which binds their grace together. It cannot be reversed without physically and mentally scarring the couple.

 

“If I were to show you my wings, I would bind my grace to your soul. It would be more than the marriage we always joke about. Being bound together means that we would have some positional awareness of each other, as well as emotional bleeds.”

 

“What does what mean?”

 

Michael stares straight at him, his green eyes incandescent, reflecting moonlight. “I would feel your emotions and you would feel mine. I’d know where you are in a room. It’s possible that I’d know your thoughts, but that is very rare even among the most powerful angelic couplings. I’ve only known of a very few human-angel couplings who bound soul and grace. Most of them had weak emotional transference.”

 

“All this from looking at your wings?”

 

“My wings are a manifestation of my grace. Imagine your soul as a tangible object for me to see and touch. That’s what my wings are.”

 

“Wow.” Adam finds himself wishing that maybe he had paid attention to his angelology class, but to be fair he took it in eighth grade. How was he supposed to know that his best friend was going to be an angel, and that asking to see his wings was like asking to be married for real—not the pretend proposals that they did? “Are they sensitive?”

 

“Very.”

 

Somehow Adam already knew that would be the answer. It’s wrong—he’s knows it’s so very wrong—to think about his best friend laying on his stomach as he straddled his thighs and ran his fingers through his wings. Adam can’t get the mental image right; he can’t picture their length or color or anything. He considers asking, but wonders if that is too personal, if that would be further crossing a line that Michael didn’t want crossed.

 

It probably can’t be any worse than what he was fantasizing about.

 

“If we were mated or whatever, I could touch them?” Michael nods but says nothing. “Is it sexual? I mean, they’re sensitive, so…” Adam trails off feeling stupid.

 

Michael swallows. “For many angels it is. But some touch each other’s wings without any sexual connotations. It would be more like a hug, I suppose, or a kiss. Something specific to one’s partner, but not necessarily sexual. Intimate, I think, is a better word.”

 

“And gender doesn’t matter to angels?”

 

“Why would it? A mate is a mate. A partner is a partner. Humans get so caught up on the details that they miss the important part. For angels, a coupling is something joyous to be celebrated—regardless of gender.”

 

“Except if one of them is a human.”

 

“It’s not illegal like it is under your laws. As the number of angel-human mates increase, attitudes are changing. It’ll be fifty years before we have the right under your laws. It may be five for us.”

 

Michael didn’t often set distinctions or put himself and Adam on opposite sides. Adam didn’t like it; he and Michael are a unit.

 

“They’re not my laws. They’re human laws.”

 

“And you’re a human.”

 

The silence that stretches between them feels like it is pulling them a million miles apart, despite the fact that he has Michael’s arm and wings surrounding him.

 

Adam is at least eighty-five percent sure that he’s not gay. He doesn’t look at male celebrities or male classmates and get turned on, not like he does with girls. Michael, though, like in every other part of his life, is the exception. He’s woken up hard from more than one dream about Michael. Sometimes when he’s in bed at night staring at the ceiling, he wonders what it would be like to hold his hand. Or kiss him. Or blow him.

 

So, he’s not gay; he just likes Michael.

 

And it’s easier to tease and joke about running away and getting married together than to admit that to his best friend.

 

“We should head home. It’s getting late.” Adam pulls himself away from Michael’s grip and stands up, brushing off his thighs. Michael stands much more gracefully than him and follows Adam down the ladder.

 

Adam heads north toward Michael’s house. “Your house is in the other direction.” It’s true. The park is about halfway between their two homes, the perfect meeting spot.

 

“It’s not safe for an angel to be out alone after dark.” He can’t risk Michael getting hurt by some ignorant fuck. He’d never forgive himself.

 

“It’s not safe for a human to be out after dark either.”

 

“Shut up, Mikey. I’m walking you home.” Michael nods but said nothing. He hates that they are fighting or whatever the fuck they’re doing. He hates it. They walk four blocks in uncomfortable silence before Adam gets the nerve to speak. “I can’t help that I’m a human.”

 

“I can’t help that I’m an angel.”

 

He watches the taut line of Michael’s shoulders as he walks, the release and tense of his jaw. “I like that you’re an angel.” And then, a few seconds later, he adds, “You’re, like, the one person on this planet I actually enjoy being around. Why would I want you to be different?”

 

Michael sighs, and it shakes loose some of his tension. The hard stretch of muscle relaxes, and his gait becomes more fluid. Michael bumps him with his shoulder, and despite the darkness, Adam can see a smile curling his lips.

 

Adam delivers Michael to the front gate of his house safely. On the walk home, he pulls out his phone and turns it on, finding twelve missed calls from his dad, meaning that for once he isn’t drunk enough to notice that Adam is missing and has been missing for four hours. There would be hell to pay when he got home.

 

**

 

“Dad gave me a two hour lecture after I got home about ‘gallivanting off with that human boy’ and ignoring my studies even though my homework was already done,” Michael says as he leans against Andy Gallagher’s locker like always. Adam hardly ever sees Andy at his locker or in class; Andy spends a considerable amount of time behind auto shop smoking pot.

 

Adam grabs his lit book and slides it into his backpack. He tries to keep the limp unnoticeable in his walk, but by Michael’s concerned look, he must have failed. “It’s nothing.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Adam. Just…don’t lie. He did this?”

 

“I’m fine,” Adam mumbles and tries to walk off toward their literature class, one of the few classes they have together, but Michael catches his wrist, drags him into the bathroom, and then proceeds to stare at some poor freshman who is washing his hands until he gets spooked and runs from the bathroom without shutting off the faucet.

 

Adam crosses his arms defensively, but Michael easily loosens them. With careful hands, he lifts the hem of Adam’s t-shirt, revealing a smattering of purple bruises across his left side. “Where else?” Michael asks, his voice as calm as a windless night.

“My hip. A few on my back.” Michael circles around to peek at the fist-sized bruise hiding there before returning to Adam’s front, his fingers nimbly popping the button of Adam’s jeans before Adam’s brain kicks into gear.

 

“Whoa whoa, sparky. Hold up.” He covers Michael’s hands with his own. “Let’s keep the pants on.”

 

“I meant nothing untoward. I wanted to see the extent of your injuries, but maybe I have seen enough.” Michael met his eyes. “I want to kill him for marring you.”

 

The intensity there frightens him more than his dad’s anger ever has. He stares back for as long as he can before turning his head to the side, staring at the grimy pipe twisting from beneath the sink into the wall. He releases Michael’s hands and re-buttons his pants. Adam wants to be elsewhere; he wants to be a thousand miles and ten years away playing in the snow with his mom as a kid, or sharing an apartment with Michael in California as they go to college together.

 

Anywhere but here in this moment with Michael’s rage and pity.

 

Careful hands cup his cheeks, gently pulling his face back to the front. “May I heal you?”

 

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up. “Heal me? You could do that?”

 

“I’m not trained or anything, but I should be able to handle bruises, assuming that is the extent of the damage.”

 

“Could you make it any worse?” Michael shakes his head, eyes avoiding his. “Okay, go ahead.”

 

Michael puts one hand on Adam’s back, the other covering his ribs, surrounding him in an almost-hug. He can feel warmth radiating from Michael’s hands into his body, almost too hot, like the first moment sinking into a bathtub, before it turns soothing. Adam can feel his entire body melting, relaxing, under Michael’s touch. That is, until Michael’s hands slide down to hold his hips. Eyes he doesn’t remember closing spring open, meeting Michael’s focused gaze.

 

Michael kisses his forehead and pulls his hands away, taking a large step back. Adam tests his body, puts weight on his sore hip and finds no pain. He touches his ribs through his shirt. He feels like normal, like always.

 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. Michael nods once. “We should probably get to lit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Part of Adam feels certain that everything is different now.

 

**

 

He sits on top of the playground waiting for Michael to show up. Adam stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket, blocking them from the harsh wind. His fingers trace the packet of Marlboros hiding in there. His dad and Michael would both kill him if they knew he was sneaking cigarettes, but they are the only things that help calm his nerves these days.

 

It’s been two weeks since Michael healed him, and things still feel…off.

 

He imagines this is what it would feel like if he had told Michael he likes him, and Michael had said they should just stay friends—like that level of awkward.

 

The last peek of sun is sinking below the horizon, the colors of the sky melting together. When he sees Michael at the edge of the park, his stomach flips and tightens, and part of him wants to run, which he realizes is the wrong response. Michael is the one good thing in his life, and Adam really hopes that he’s not so fucking stupid that he would throw that away.

 

Michael tosses his messenger bag up to Adam before he climbs the ladder and sits in his usual spot next to the slide. He pulls out a thin quilt-like blanket and hands it to Adam.

 

Adam asks, “What is this for?”

 

“It’s supposed to get down below freezing tonight, and you never dress warmly enough.”

 

Adam ran his fingertips along the soft fabric. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Michael takes his black Sharpie and retraces his sigil onto the slide for the hundredth time. “Have you spoken to your brothers yet?”

 

Michael is convinced that telling Sam and Dean about how mean Daddy is will solve something; he’s following some misguided angelic logic that says family has to actually give a shit about what happens to you. “Give it a rest, Mike.”

 

Sam and Dean are either morons and don’t know what is going on, or they know exactly what is going on and don’t give a shit. Either way, he doesn’t want or need their help. He doesn’t need them.

 

He practically raised himself before his mom died, and he’s done a good enough job since moving in with John.

 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Michael asks, looking up at him with those wide, green, unearthly eyes.

 

“No, just…long day, I guess.”

 

Michael looks like he wants to press the issue, but a blast of wind and the chill it drives through Adam makes him reconsider. He takes the blanket from Adam’s grip and spreads it over both of them, even though Adam knows that Michael isn’t as sensitive to temperature as he is. “Dad’s been talking about college again. He wants me to train to be a healer; it’s very prestigious and would heighten the standing of our family in the angelic community.”

 

“I used to want to be a doctor.”

 

“What changed that?”

 

“Four weeks in the hospital watching my mother die of cancer.”

 

Michael presses his shoulder against Adam’s. “I’m so sorry.” Adam shrugs.

 

“Do you want to be a healer?”

 

It’s Michael’s turn to shrug. “It’s not something I’m opposed to. But being a healer comes with conditions, and I’m sure that’s why Dad chose it.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Michael sighs and turns his head to look at Adam, so Adam returns the favor, looking straight at him. “Healers must be mated before they can begin study so that they don’t accidentally bind themselves to a patient. Dad has many suitable candidates lined up.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“My sentiments as well.”

 

Fuck.

 

Adam closes his eyes, shaking his head. At least his dad ignores him ninety-five percent of the time.

He’s not sure he could deal with the near-constant pressure Michael gets from his dad. He seriously lined up potential mates for his son? “What are you going to do?”

 

“Ask you to run away with me.”

 

He opens his eyes and smiles. “Anywhere. Anytime.”

 

Michael tilts his head so that it’s resting on Adam’s shoulder, and Adam stays very still, careful not to jostle him. Adam wants to wrap his arm around Michael and pull him in closer; he wants to kiss him and tell him that everything will be alright. He wants to take the birthday money and the bag stashed underneath his bed, take Michael’s hand, and make a run for it.

 

He wants to tell Michael not to bind his grace with anyone else, because Adam wants it for himself.

 

He wants to cry, knowing that it’ll never happen, because good things don’t happen to Adam. It’s the same old shit over and over again. And it never gets better.

 

“You and me versus the whole world.” Michael murmurs.

 

“Yeah, Mike, us against the world.”

 

**

 

Sam greets him at the front door, and Adam resists the urge to roll his eyes and push past him. He and Adam don't have a good relationship, but Sam still tries to act all buddy-buddy and invoke 'family' whenever it suits him, as if he and Sam had grown up together, or even ever lived in the same house—Sam had gone off to a dorm at the University of Kansas just weeks before Adam was shipped, by court order, into his father's custody.

 

"What?"

 

"Where have you been?"

 

"Committing acts of vandalism. Cow-tipping. Bashing mailboxes. How about you?"

 

Sam puts on an un-amused face, which makes Adam smile. Adam walks to his bedroom, barely sparing a glance at their passed-out father, Sam trailing behind. "I've been waiting here for the past three hours."

 

"Bummer."

 

"What's going on with you?"

 

Adam turns around to face his brother. "You're seriously trying to have this conversation with me? Don't act like you give a fuck. We both know better."

 

Sam visibly flinches. "I care, Adam."

 

"Fuck you." Anger coils tighter and tighter inside him, until Adam can’t contain it anymore, and he explodes. "You really want to know how I am? Look around this house. Look in the fridge and the cabinets. There's no food. Dad spends all his money on beer, and I have to steal from his wallet or the store if I want to eat. If I'm lucky, he's so far gone that he ignores my existence, and I’m lucky a lot. That's how I'm doing. That's what's up with me."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Adam shakes his head. "Fuck off."

 

"Adam..."

 

"Go."

 

Sam turns around, and Adam's ears follow the sound of retreating footsteps until he hears the front door slam. He pulls out his phone and texts Michael: **Run away with me**.

 

Adam only has to wait a minute before he gets his reply: **Anywhere. Anytime**.

 

**

 

The next day he comes back to find grocery bags on the kitchen counter and his father’s angry eyes glaring at him.

 

**

 

Adam bangs on the door to Sam and Dean’s apartment, not caring a bit about how much noise he is causing. Sam yanks open the door and audibly gasps. Adam doesn’t know how he looks; he didn’t take the time to stop in the mirror, but by the way pain is radiating from the left side of his face, he is guessing that it’s not pretty.

 

“Next time you think about helping, don’t,” Adam says, the pain making it difficult to form words coherently. “And, in case you forgot what that means, it’s the thing you’ve been doing for the past five years.”

 

Sam raises his hand, and Adam flinches, hating himself for it. Sam takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Adam, you didn’t tell me he was hitting you.” His voice is calm, quiet, as if he soothing a frightened child, and it pisses Adam off even more.

 

“I had a bag packed and money stashed away, and he wrecked my room, found all my money, and he took it. I’ve been saving it since I got here, so that I could leave, and he took it, so now I’m stuck in this fucking town and his fucking house.” Adam takes a deep breath, fighting the angry tears that are threatening to spill. He hasn’t cried since his mom, and he’s not going to give John the satisfaction of making him cry now.

 

“Adam, come inside. You need to put something on that.”

 

“Can’t. I’m meeting someone.” He was supposed to be there half an hour ago, but he had run out without his phone, so there was no way of telling Michael what was going on. Not that he knows what he’d tell Michael anyway.

 

Sam gives him this disbelieving look, tilting his head to the side and staring him down. “Have them come here.”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s not that you care about them seeing you like this, so obviously whoever it is already knows about your family, which probably means they know about me. I’m not going to harass whoever it is. I just want to get that blood cleaned up and see if it’s as bad as it looks.”

 

“Sam,” Adam says, feeling weary, “just leave me the fuck alone.”

 

Adam turns to walk away, but Sam’s words stop him. “He used to hit Dean too when he was drunk, and then he’d apologize about it for days after, sometimes weeks. However long it took him before he got drunk enough to hit him again.” Turning back around, Adam faces Sam.

 

“You knew.” For all of Adam’s insistence that his brothers knew what was going on, hearing it confirmed is like a punch to the gut. “You knew, and you left me with him.”

 

He never thought it was possible to hate them more.

 

“He was sober when you got here; he was doing better, went to rehab and AA and everything. I figured you’d be okay, that you’d get the childhood Dean and I didn’t.”

 

“At least you checked up on me, made sure he wasn’t beating me senseless every other week.”

 

Sam leaned against the doorframe. “He told me to never come back. When I left college, that’s what he said. So I didn’t.”

 

“Thanks for leaving me there. Classy, really. I noticed you said that Dad hit Dean; he never hit you?”

 

Sam shook his head. “Dean protected me from him.”

 

“Wow. I wish I had a big brother like Dean.”

 

The slap of Sam’s hand against the door makes Adam jump. “Damn it, Adam, I know we screwed up. I’m trying to fix it now.”

 

“How the fuck are you going to fix this?”

 

Sam sighs, but keeps his eyes on Adam. “We’re going to go inside and clean you up, and then we’re going to call your friend and tell them that you are here, and if he or she would like to come visit you, then they are more than welcome to.”

 

“He’s not going to come over here.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he’s an angel, and he won’t go anywhere he might not be safe or welcome.”

 

Sam turns around, expecting Adam to follow him, and Adam is so exhausted that he follows along. “Then tell him that he’s safe and welcome.”

 

Sam gently pushes on Adam’s shoulder until he is seated on the couch before disappearing down the hall, returning a minute later with a first aid kit. “I don’t lie to Michael. I’m not sure he would be safe or welcome.”

 

“You think I’m a bigot.”

 

Adam shrugs. “Honestly, Sam, I don’t know a thing about you.”

 

“I started law school this past fall. My focus is interpreting angelic law within the scope of human law. One of my TAs, who is an angel, is over here at least once a week. Dean’s dating an angel, for god’s sake. We’re not going to hurt your friend.”

 

He really doesn’t know his brothers at all. They’re total strangers to him, and he’s not sure he’s ready to drag Michael into the middle of this mess. “Can I borrow your phone?”

 

“You inviting him over?”

 

“No, but I should at least tell him why I wasn’t there to meet him.”

 

Sam wipes a cloth on his face, leaving a cool trail in its wake as warm air from the heater vent above his head stings against the sensitive skin of his face. “He knows about Dad?”

 

“He healed me last time.”

 

Sam’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he nearly drops the medicated cloth that he’s using to the floor, but then he regains his composure. “Does he do that often?”

 

“Just the one time.” Sam nods, aiming for nonchalance and failing entirely. “What am I missing?”Adam asks.

 

“Nothing.” At Adam’s incredulous look, Sam repeats himself. “Nothing, seriously nothing. I’ve been studying angelic customs, and most only heal family members or mates. I didn’t realize you were so close.”

 

Adam shrugs, but he knows this is something he’s going to have to ask Michael about. He hadn’t even considered that it might be a big deal for Michael to heal him; he had offered, so Adam accepted, and he had expected it to be as easy as that. It’s always as easy as that for them. “He’s my best friend.”

 

Best friend. Only friend. It was all the same these days.

 

**

 

He knows when Michael arrives, because a fist connects with Andy Gallagher’s locker, leaving it slightly dented. What was it with people hitting doors around him? The angel hadn’t been happy when Adam had called the night before, and he had wanted to come over to Sam and Dean’s, but Adam stopped him; he wasn’t ready for that yet.

 

He’d slept on their couch, not waking up when Dean got home from his date, though he and Sam must have talked, because Dean didn’t say anything about Adam’s presence or the swelling of his face when they sat at the table for breakfast, just passed the syrup for the huge stack of waffles that Sam placed in front of them. Adam’s stomach had growled obscenely. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something so delicious.

 

So, Adam decided that he is willing to work on his relationship with them, even though he still kind of hates them.

 

“You can’t just tell me that your dad hit you, and then tell me not to come see you,” Michael growls when Adam slams his locker door shut.

 

“I was at Sam’s. I was okay.”

 

Michael’s eyes trail over Adam’s face, and his shoulders slump. Tall, confident, back-straight-shoulders-back Michael is slouching, and frowning, and Adam hates that look on him. “I waited for forty-five minutes at the park, fearing the worst.” Michael reaches up toward his injured jaw, but pulls back at the last second, dropping his hand back to his side. His gaze never wavers. Those sharp green eyes bore into Adam, like they are staring into the depths of his soul. “I never want to do it again. Please, Adam, you can’t go back there. I can’t worry like that anymore.”

 

“Sam asked me to move in with them, at least until I graduate.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“I’m going to think about it.”

 

Adam starts walking to class, and Michael falls into step next to him, their footsteps in sync, mirroring each other. Michael bumps his shoulder. “You could always move in with me.”

 

“Your dad is a douche nozzle, and he hates me.”

 

“He doesn’t hate you; he just thinks that we are too close, and that that is dangerous.”

 

And that reminded him. “Dean is dating an angel.” Michael tenses up, freezing in place for a long second before recovering and taking long strides to catch up. Before Michael has a chance to respond, Adam cuts him off, remembering the other part of the conversation from the night before. “And you healing me, was that something…Sam mentioned most angels only heal family members or mates?”

 

Michael doesn’t hesitate this time. “You are my family.”

 

“Not biologically.”

 

“You’re my family in the only way that matters.”

 

**

 

Dean goes with him to pack up his stuff; he hasn’t decided how long he’s going to stay with them, but he at least needs to get his phone and a change of clothes, because both Sam and Dean are bulkier than he is, and Dean’s borrowed clothes hang loosely on him. Adam doesn’t spend much time considering his physical appearance, so he hadn’t realized how thin he is until he spent time with his brothers. They are built like Dad, broad shoulders and big muscles.

 

Adam is lean muscle, if there is muscle present at all.

Yeah, maybe he didn’t eat three meals a day, but he didn’t think it showed that much; that hadn’t stopped Sam from mother hen-ing all over him at dinner before they headed over to the house.

 

Dean still hadn’t said anything about Adam moving in with them; he seemed content to let Sam be the one to fuss about it.

 

And honestly, Adam thinks he might take Michael up on his offer if he has to deal with the two of them hovering like he is an infant taking his first steps. Adam’s been raising himself since before his mom died—he doesn’t need anyone’s help.

 

Dean walks into the unlocked house, his jaw clenched and his back straight, accentuating his formidable height. The moment they see Dad passed out though, his demeanor changes, becoming less tense. “Go pack your shit.”

 

Dean follows Adam down the hall, but turns into John’s room, while Adam enters his own room. It’s still a wreck from yesterday—not that it’s normally pristine or anything—drawers yanked open, clothes and books strewn all over the floor.

 

He finds his backpack, the one that had been his runaway bag, and adds a few extra items: his favorite jeans, a hoodie, underwear, the picture of him and his mom on his tenth birthday at the Minnesota Zoo, and his phone. When Adam exits his room, Dean is standing in the hall waiting for him, a wad of cash in his hand.

 

“I think this is yours.” He places the haphazard stack of bills into Adam’s waiting hands, and trudges back through the house, leaving Adam in a state of shock; he had never expected to see the money again. He stuffs the cash into the pocket of his oversized hoodie and follows his brother out of the house, not even looking back at all the things he’s leaving behind.

 

**

 

Living with Sam and Dean is like being the goldfish from Mrs. Mayton’s second grade class; there’s always someone looking at him or poking at him or putting way too much food in front of him to consume, and, sure, yeah, people and fish need attention to survive, but Adam feels so overwhelmed with the attention that he might snap.

 

He’s grateful—really, he is, but he needs room to breathe.

 

He still meets Michael at the park on Lakeland Avenue, and it’s the only time he feels relatively normal. Michael’s been his constant for so long that he feels more like home than John’s house or Sam and Dean’s apartment. Adam never knew that a person could be like that, could be so much.

Michael draws sigils on the hard plastic floor of the playground right next to Adam’s hand, the corners of his mouth curved slightly in the way they only do when Michael is really happy. It’s a rare warm February night; it’s so warm in fact that neither of them is wearing a coat, just a t-shirt in Adam’s case, and a sweater in Michael’s.

 

When he finishes the foreign, child-like—in Adam’s eyes—symbols around the edge of the sigil, he picks up Adam’s hand, like it’s easy, like it’s nothing, and he turns it over. The felt tip brushes over his sensitive wrist, causing Adam to fight the urge to squirm or pull away.

 

“You branding me again?”

 

Michael’s smile crinkles the edges of his eyes. “Maybe.” He finishes up and pops the cap on the top of his Sharpie.

 

Adam snatches it from him, pulling the cap off with his mouth. He takes Michael’s wrist and writes “ADAM” in all capital letters before putting the cap back on and handing it to Michael. “It’s only fair. I’ll wear your name, but you have to wear mine.”

 

“Deal,” he says. Michael looks down, smiling, and then looks back up. “How are things going with your brothers?”

 

Adam groans. “Do we really have to have a heart-to-heart?”

 

“I want to make sure you’re happy.”

 

“Happy? No. It’s weird; Dad ignored me, but Sam is always there like, ‘How are you? Can I get you anything? How’s your homework? Can we be best friends?’” Adam shrugs. “Dean’s alright. I mean, they’re both fine. It’s just weird.”

 

“So you said.” Adam rolls his eyes at Michael’s dry tone. “Can I meet them?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

He still isn’t sure he wants his brothers and Michael to interact; silly Sharpie-d brands aside, Michael is his—his best friend, his confidant. Michael is the only thing he has for himself.

 

“But you said they are angel-friendly, and I want to know them, especially if they’re going to be a part of your life now.”

 

Adam crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t know,” he says again, and Michael deflates, shoulders slumping, lips curving downward, eyes staring at his folded hands.

 

“Okay. Never mind, then.”

 

**

 

Adam gets a job at a pizza place downtown so he can be out of the apartment more. It’s only for a couple of hours after school, but it keeps him gone long enough that he doesn’t have to sit through Sam’s awkward questions about his day before helping to make dinner. For the record, Dean’s a better cook than Sam, but Sam’s classes get out before Dean gets off work, so most nights Sam cooks.

After that it’s to the library if he has homework or straight to the park if he doesn’t, and he usually doesn’t. The hour of study hall at the end of the day allows him to keep up his grades; it’s not like he’s going to graduate valedictorian or anything, but he has a solid 3.5 GPA.

 

He comes home at a semi-reasonable hour, enough to keep Sam from giving him disappointed looks or Dean from rolling his eyes, and sometimes watches TV with them. Dean, surprisingly, likes this totally chick-flicky medical show, and he spends commercial breaks filling Adam in on past seasons and dead characters and love triangles. Adam pretends to hate it, but the show is strangely riveting.

 

Other than Michael, Adam doesn’t know many angels. Most of them keep to themselves. He knows Uriel and Zachariah because they are Michael’s brothers and are in the grade below them, but it’s more a casual acknowledgement of mutual disdain than it is a friendship. His brothers are dicks, but Michael is actually really awesome, so Adam figures that Michael is just some weird angel freak completely unlike the others—until he meets Gabriel.

 

Gabriel is Sam’s TA for one of his classes, and the dude’s a spaz. If Sam hadn’t told him that Gabriel was an angel, he never would have guessed. His personality is so big that it fills the room; it is unlike any other angel that he knows, even Michael, who is open and reserved at the same time.

 

Gabriel is everywhere all at once, a force of nature, and Adam can’t help but like him, most days.

 

He comes over to the apartment, usually on Tuesday nights to go over Sam’s hundred-some page paper that is his final for some class that Gabriel doesn’t TA. Even though Gabriel doesn’t act like he can ever be serious, he is really smart and focused and gets strangely intense when he and Sam talk about politics.

 

Gabriel is sitting on the couch when Adam gets back from the park; Sam is nowhere in sight, and Dean is out on a date with his angel, whom Adam has yet to meet. Adam plops down beside him, waving slightly. Gabriel’s eyes follow the movement of his hand, narrowing, and Adam has to look down to see why—Michael’s name in Enochian. Fuck.

 

Gabriel smirks and shakes his head. “Sam said you that you snuck off to see an angel every night. Wasn’t sure I believed him until now.” Gabriel glances at his wrist again. “Michael?”

 

“Michael Milton.”

 

He tilts his head quickly, his jaw falling open. “Really?” Adam nods, wondering what is going through Gabriel’s head, and worrying—not for the first time—that this branding thing means more than Michael is saying, like with the healing. “I know the family.” He says it slowly, carefully, like he’s testing out the words to see if they’ll hold up.

 

“And?” He’s being rude; he knows he is, but he can’t help it.

 

“Never would have guessed daddy’s boy Michael. Anna maybe, but not Michael.”

 

Adam shrugs, fighting back the need to defend Michael. “We’ve been friends since freshman year.”

 

“You let all your friends draw their names on you in permanent marker?”

 

He sits up straighter. Gabriel is shorter than he is, though sometimes Adam forgets that. He seems larger than life. “He’s done more than enough to earn the right. And, really, it’s not like he carved it into my bones,” he replies.

 

“Not yet,” he hears Gabriel mutter. “You mean because he healed you?”

 

Fucking Sam. Can’t tell him anything.  “Sam needs to keep his mouth shut.”

 

“He’s worried about you.”

 

Adam is so fucking tired of everyone worrying about him. He’s been looking after himself a long time. Adam gets up. “Fuck off, Gabriel. And you can tell Sam that my mom died when I was twelve and I’m not looking to replace her.”

 

He takes a walk around the block, hiding in the alley behind the gas station that Dean calls “crank mart,” after using a fake ID to buy Marlboros. Fifteen minutes and three cigarettes later, he trudges back to the apartment, knowing that he has nowhere else to go.

 

Despite Michael’s offer, he really doesn’t think he could live with him and his family without going completely nuts. He’s barely hanging onto his sanity as is, but he can’t go back home, back to John’s.

 

Adam pulls out his phone just as the apartment complex comes into sight; he wants to text Michael, but he knows that it’ll just make him worry, so he pockets it again. Gabriel’s car is missing from the parking lot, but Dean’s is there.

 

Dean’s the one waiting for him when he returns home for the second time. Adam sighs loudly, and Dean nods, not unsympathetically. “It’s only been three weeks, kid. We don’t know you, and you don’t know us. And once we do know each other, I imagine we’re still going to piss each other off.”

 

“I don’t need someone hovering over my shoulder. I’m not a child.”

 

Dean nods. “I know you’re not. He just wants to help; we just want to help, but you gotta let us know what you need.”

 

“Why would I tell you anything if you’re just going to run off and tell my business to everyone else?”

 

Dean pats the couch cushion next to him, but Adam stays rooted firmly in place, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. Dean snorts. “Sam’s playing protective older brother.”

 

“He picked a hell of a time to start.”

 

“We don’t know anything about your friend, and him healing you is a big thing—you realize that, right? He’s not trained. He could have accidentally bonded you two.” Adam shrugs. At least it would keep Michael from being bonded with one of the high society angel brats that his dad wants him to bond with. “Yeah, that’s what we figured. I want to meet him.”

 

“And I want a million dollars.” Dean stares at him, un-amused. “Since we’re talking about things we want.”

 

He shakes his head. “You’re such a little shit,” Dean mutters to himself.

 

He says it fondly, the same way that he calls Sam a jerk or the way Sam calls him a bitch, because no one in this family can show affection in a way that others might perceive as normal. Lucky him for being born with Winchester blood.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Okay.” Dean relents, like he knows that this is the best he’s going to get from Adam, and it doesn’t concern Adam that his brother has already figured this out about him.

 

**

 

“Dad’s taking me to look at a college in Maine over spring break,” Michael says from the ground, looking up at Adam at the top of the playground. He’s bundled up in a thick gray pea coat, his hands stuffed into his pockets. His brow is furrowed, making him appear even more solemn than usual.

 

“Maine?”

 

“There’s an angel academy for healers there—the best one in the US. Rachel is coming with us.” Rachel’s one of the numerous potential bondmates that Michael’s father has paraded into Michael’s life. Michael’s told him about at least a dozen who he’s met at parties or dinners; Adam’s lost track of who is who.

 

“Do we like Rachel?” Adam asks, looking down at him, feeling like he’s more out of reach than ever, like he is slowly slipping away.

 

Michael’s shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. “She’s probably the least objectionable. Dad likes her because her grandmother was a general during the Great Banishment, but Rachel’s not too bad. She wants to be a soldier, so we would only be together when she’s not deployed, and with my schedule as a healer, we’d hardly ever see each other.”

 

“The best you can hope for out of a potential spouse is someone you never have to see.” Adam’s positive that he didn’t manage to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but Michael doesn’t react at all. He wants to beg him not to go on the trip, beg him not to bond with Rachel, beg him to run away. ‘I think I’m in love with you,’ he wants to say. Instead, he says nothing.

 

“I’ll be gone all next week.” Michael still hasn’t made any move to climb the ladder, and Adam gets the feeling that he’s not going to. It hurts. “I just thought you should know.”

 

Two months until graduation, and then he loses Michael from his life forever. He always knew it would happen; it had to happen. Michael is radiant; he is good, and Adam’s lost everything good he’s ever had.

 

**

 

Adam takes on extra shifts at the pizza place during spring break because he has nothing better to do; he’d planned on hanging out with Michael, but that plan got shot in the face. Fucking Michael in fucking Maine with fucking Rachel. He’s not jealous, no matter what Dean says. It just means that instead of watching movies at Michael’s house while Zach and Uriel glare at him, Adam works for eight hours, comes home exhausted, and passes out on the couch while Dean watches Dr. Sexy reruns and Sam does scholarly things from his desk.

 

Adam tries and fails at not thinking about Michael. He considers it weaning himself off, because he knows he’s not going to be able to go cold turkey. There used to be a time when he imagined them in college together, but he knows that won’t happen while Michael tries to please his father. Michael’s going to bond himself to the least objectionable choice and go to college in Maine, because that’s what daddy wants from him, and there’s no way for him and Michael to be friends after that.

 

Michael calls on Tuesday, while Adam’s at work, but by the time Adam gets home, he’s so tired that he decides to put it off until morning. He wakes up late on Wednesday morning and has to run to catch the bus to work. Adam texts him after work on Wednesday, but then falls asleep before he gets a reply.

 

By Saturday morning, they’ve been playing message and phone tag for an entire week, and Adam’s stomach clenches every single goddamn time he thinks about Michael.

 

Dean wakes him up and drags him out of bed by promising pancakes. They go to this greasy diner about six blocks from the apartment. The white and black checkerboard floor is yellowed from coffee spills and the vinyl seats are cracked, but they make the best chocolate chip pancakes that Adam’s ever tasted—crisp and gooey and sweet—and the coffee is nothing to scoff at either. Between him and Dean, they probably drink six cups and eat more than that many pancakes.

 

Dean has on this indecipherable look, and it is giving Adam a complex. His paranoia finally gets the better of him and he says, “Just spit it out.”

 

Dean smiles around his fork as he takes a bit of his pancakes. He chews slowly, purposely to aggravate Adam. “How’s Michael?”

 

Hearing the name shouldn’t make him feel sick to his stomach. Fuck all those people who talk about being in love like it’s wonderful. Love makes you miserable. That’s what Adam’s learned from the experience. “Fine, I guess.”

 

“You guess? You haven’t talked to him.”

 

Adam shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee to delay answering. “Not really. I’m sure he’s having a blast.”

 

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Are you going to ever let me meet your angel friend?”

 

“You ever going to let me meet yours?”

 

“He’s coming over for dinner tonight. Gabriel too. Yours is welcome to join us.”

 

Adam bites the inside of his cheek, his fingers tracing the inside of his wrist where Michael’s name has long-since faded away. It looks wrong, lacking the thick circles and lines. “He’s not supposed to get back until tomorrow afternoon.” It has been seven days since he’s seen Michael, and that is way too many. He misses him a whole hell of a lot.

 

“Another time then.”

 

**

 

Castiel is weird.  Not in the way Gabriel is weird, or the way Michael is weird, but weird because he looks at everything as if he’s seen it all before, while simultaneously being fascinated by it. He’s wears this dingy trench coat that Dean tries for a quarter of an hour to coax him out of, but Castiel refuses to take it off. Underneath the coat is a rumpled black suit and a blue tie the same hue as his wide eyes.

 

He greets Adam kindly enough, but sticks close to Dean’s side, following him like a magnet, or like a moon orbiting a planet, stuck in his gravity. Or maybe it’s the other way around; maybe Dean is the one stuck in Castiel’s gravity. He’s never seen his eldest brother look at anyone like that, like Cas—as they all call him—is the answer to some profound, life-altering question.

 

Even more interesting to Adam than Dean and Cas’s relationship is Cas’s relationship with Gabriel. Gabriel teases him and tells jokes and brings him food; he all-around dotes on Castiel, trying to bring him out of his shell and include him in the conversation. Sam too does this, but with a little more subtlety.

They order Chinese and settle down in the living room for _The Empire Strikes Back_ , while Gabe and Dean bicker about which is the better of the originals. Gabriel insists it has to be _A New Hope_ , but Dean says that _Empire_ is clearly of superior quality. Sam rolls his eyes at them and shoves more lo mein into his mouth. Only Castiel asking them to shut up because he can’t hear the movie convinces them to suspend their argument until after the credits roll.

 

When movie ends, the two launch back into their debate, voices raised and hands waving wildly. Adam climbs off the couch and heads to the kitchen for a beer—he and Sam had had an argument about him drinking, but Dean said that it was fine if he had one, as long as he did it in the house; of course neither of them know that he has a fake ID and can get beer anytime he wants.

 

Castiel follows him into the kitchen and gives a fond smile when Dean yells out, “’Luke, I am your

father’ is the single greatest line of the entire franchise and it comes from _Empire.”_

 

Gabriel’s rebuttal is quieter, but Adam doesn’t pay attention because Cas starts talking. “I hope I’m not intruding, but Dean told me that a friend of yours might here tonight.”

 

Fucking busybody brothers. “Michael’s on a trip to some healer school in the northeast.”

 

Cas nods, crinkles forming around his eyes as he squints. “The Bliora Academy?”

 

“I don’t know,” Adam replies with a shrug. “He says it’s the best.”

 

“It is,” Cas replies. “Both of my brothers attended.”

 

“You have to be bonded before you go?” It’s not that he thinks Michael lied to him; Adam just wants it confirmed.

 

Castiel sighs quietly, deeply, and it sounds personal, painful. “Yes, that’s true.” Adam can’t imagine that, being forced to marry someone just so that you can have a career. “I was slated to go after I graduated from college, but I refused my mate.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yes. It was very difficult to go against my family.”

 

“Why’d you say no?”

 

Castiel’s demeanor changes dramatically. He stands up straighter, and his eyes light up. “I met a silly human and couldn’t get him out of my head. One meeting and he changed everything about my life.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.”

 

He says it likes it’s so simple. He met Dean, and that meant he couldn’t bind himself to someone he didn’t love. Something about Dean was different. The story should make him happy, give him hope or some shit, but Adam knows it’s not going to happen that way for him. Michael’s on his way out the door, and Adam’s not selfish enough or stupid enough to beg him to stay.

 

It is the best healer school in the country; how is he supposed to compete with that?

 

Cas tilts his head slightly and opens his mouth to speak, but there is a knock on the door. Fearing what Castiel will say to him, Adam bolts from the room, cutting off Sam, and answers the door. The rush of March air tickles his skin, and Adam just stares with disbelieving eyes.

 

“May we speak?”

 

Adam nods and follows Michael outside, pulling the door closed behind him, and regretting his choice when his bare feet greet the chilled sidewalk. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

 

“I asked dad to cut our trip short. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.”

 

They stare at each other, Adam fighting the urge to wrap him in a hug, Michael thinking god only knows what. After a minute of silence, Adam asks, “You wanted to talk?”

 

“Yes,” he says, pulling a Sharpie from his coat pocket. Adam rolls up his hoodie sleeve and offers his arm, earning a small smile from Michael. After so long without seeing it, though, that smile knocks the wind out of him. Michael draws the now familiar loops and lines on his left wrist. “What are you doing after graduation?”

 

“I got accepted to KU and a few other places, but really, I have no clue. Why?”

 

Michael caps the lid of the marker and holds it out to Adam, and Adam watches as Michael’s nimble fingers roll up the stiff sleeve of his coat far enough to reveal his wrist. He holds it out. Adam’s palm cradles the back of Michael’s hand, his thumb pressed to the center of his palm, holding it steady as he writes his name. “There is a healer academy in Oklahoma City. It’s hours away from Lawrence, but it’s closer than Maine. I…” Michael trails off, like he’s uncertain. “I told dad that I wasn’t going to go there, and that I wasn’t going to bond with Rachel.”

 

Adam jerks his head up to look at him, not sure he heard correctly. “What? Why?”

 

He holds up his wrist—ADAM written there in his own sloppy handwriting—like that is all the reason he needs, but that can’t mean what Adam thinks it means. It can’t. It doesn’t. Because that would mean something good was happening in Adam’s life, and if something good happened then it would bring about the apocalypse. “Rachel doesn’t like cheese fries. She’s never even heard of Vonnegut. And she hates movies. Movies, she hates them. How am I supposed to bond with someone like that?” Adam closes his eyes and has just taken a steadying breath when he feels warm fingers brushing against his hands. Adam grips them tightly. Michael’s lips are light against his forehead, barely a kiss.

 

Adam wants to say, ‘I love you’ and ‘Don’t leave me,” but, instead, he says, “I’m cold. Do you want to come inside?”

 

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

Adam takes a steadying breath, releasing one of Michael’s hands, holding the other one even tighter—which causes Michael to chuckle quietly—and opens the apartment door. Whatever conversation had been happening ends abruptly when they enter. The uncomfortable silence that follows makes his stomach drop.

 

Sam—thank god for him—is the one who speaks. “I’m Sam.” He points to himself. “Adam’s told us about you.”

 

Michael side-eyes Adam. “I’m Michael. He’s spoken about you as well.”

 

Sam smiles easily and points out the rest of the group. “That’s Dean and Cas, his boyfriend or special friend or whatever they’re calling it this week.” This earns him a “bitch” from Dean. “And this is Gabriel.”

 

Gabriel’s face is blank, not at all like his usual self. “Hey bro.” Bro? Seriously? Someone was going to have some explaining to do. Gabriel had said he was ‘familiar with the family’ like they had met once, not like he was a member of said family.

 

“Gabriel,” Michael returns, his voice stiff, like a wet towel left out in the cold. “Are you well, brother?”

 

“I am. And it looks like you are as well.”

 

Michael smiles slightly at that. “Just told dad to go fuck himself.”

 

“At this rate, the poor man will never get the pure-blooded angel grandchildren he wants so badly,” Gabriel says, his tone and demeanor lightening.

 

“At this rate, he’ll have no more sons to boss around.”

 

Gabriel snorts and brings his beer bottle to his lips for a drink, and then he smiles. “Not if we keep running off with Winchesters.”

 

“I’m actually a Milligan,” Adam interjects. Everyone else in the room shakes their heads. “I am,” he defends.

 

“Of course you are.”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Dean.”

 

Gabriel keeps talking, ignoring his and Dean’s outburst. “No to Bliora then?”

 

Michael shrugs. “I can’t get in without a mate.”

 

Gabriel stares pointedly at their connected hands. “I think I know where you can find one.” Michael doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to glare at his brother. “What? Like I’m supposed to ignore the fact that you already healed him, knowing the risks? Or that he’s been moping around this entire week? Or that you’re holding hands right now? Don’t tell me you’re going to pull a Cas and wait for four years because you’re too nervous to bring up something you desperately want.”

 

Cas’s quiet voice chastises Gabriel. “I told you that in confidence.”

 

“Oops.” Castiel’s glare is more terrifying than Gabe’s, or Dean’s, or even his dad’s. He would hate to be on the receiving end of that look.

 

Castiel inches toward Dean at the same time that Dean moves toward him. It’s strange for Adam to see how attuned to each other they are. “Don’t project your wants on everyone else. Just because you desire to be bonded does not mean that your brother does. Leave him be.”

 

Gabriel steps back, looking as though he has been hit. He doesn’t say anything, just lowers his head and walks toward the door. Sam takes a step toward him, but stops, unsure of what to do. His emotions play across his face, moving and transforming from worry to fear to anger to sadness before looping back to worry.

 

Michael squeezes his hand once, and Adam looks up to meet his eyes. He tilts his head toward the door, and Adam nods, releasing his hand; Adam watches as Michael follows his brother out into the cold March night.

 

Without realizing what’s happening, Adam is led by Sam into the kitchen. Heavy hands push on his shoulders, causing his body told fold and fall into the kitchen chair. “Did you know they were brothers?”

 

“No, I didn’t.” Sam sits across from him at the table. He can hear Dean and Cas’s hushed voices wafting in from the living room but can’t make out the words. “Are you two…” Sam trails off.

 

“I really don’t know what we are.” But he refused Rachel. And that had to mean something, right? 

 

“What about you? Are you and Gabriel…”

 

He always wondered when he saw them together, if they were _together._ The way they interacted, their easy banter, the way Sam flushed at Gabe’s innuendo. Adam had spent the last month off-and-on considering if they were.

 

“No. I mean,” Sam pauses, “we’re not. We’re friends.”

 

He nods, not knowing what else to do; Adam was sort of in the same place. Yes, something had shifted tonight, and he wasn’t as worried about Michael running off to Maine and having angel babies with Rachel, but he still didn’t know what he was to Michael. They were going to have to talk.

 

He was going to have to talk.

 

**

 

Adam waits at the top of the playground, the sunset painting the sky in striking reds and purples. Michael hadn’t shown up for school, and he wasn’t answering his texts. Adam was worried. He hadn’t heard from Michael since he followed Gabriel out of the apartment on Saturday night.

 

Adam had gone to work on Monday distracted, burning himself more than once, scarfed down dinner, and ran to the park, ignoring his brothers’ worried looks.

 

He’s been waiting for over half an hour, and still no sign of Michael. Fear curls against his insides as he releases stuttered breaths from his lips. Michael is okay; he has to be okay. There is a perfectly logical reason why Michael isn’t answering.

 

When he sees Michael at the edge of the park, Adam immediately starts climbing down the ladder, giving up halfway, and jumping to the ground. The jolt in his knees when he lands startles him for half a second, before he half-walks half-jogs over to Michael; Michael who is bundled up in his coat, hands plunged into his pockets, but he pulls them out when Adam is close enough and pulls him into a hug.

 

Michael is rarely affectionate for his own sake. Usually, he shows it for Adam’s sake—snuggling when Adam is cold, kissing his forehead after healing him—but this hug is all Michael. “He’s pulling me out of school.”

 

Adam fought to process the statement. He was always worried this would happen. “It’s two months until graduation.”

 

“He doesn’t care. He’s sending me to the same school Anna goes to in hopes that I will find a more suitable mate than ‘that human boy,’” Michael says bitterly, heavy, angry breaths, tickling the bare skin of Adam’s neck. “I’m grounded for embarrassing him in front of Rachel’s family. He took away my cell phone and my laptop and he locked me up in my room, so I snuck out. If he had his way, I’d never see you again.”

 

Adam presses his hands firmly against the broad expanse of Michael’s back, feeling his shoulder blades so solid against his fingertips. “What are you gonna do?”

 

“Ask you to run away with me.”

 

“Have you talked to Gabriel?”

 

The tip of his nose lightly rubs against Adam’s neck as Michael shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to say to him. He’s the second brother to walk away from my family. Before last night, I hadn’t seen him in years.”

 

Adam sighs, feeling overwhelmed. “Come back to the apartment with me. We’ll decide what to do

from there.” Adam feels Michael’s nod against his shoulder, though neither of them make a move to disentangle. “Why did you say no?”

 

He knows the question is vague, but Michael understands without needing an explanation. “I was there, at the school, walking around with Rachel and Dad, and all I could think about is that if you were there with me it would have been so much better, much more fun. I knew that if I said yes to the school and to Rachel, and to my dad that it would be like saying no to you. And I don’t want to lose you from my life.”

 

Adam pulls back, his hands moving up to cradle Michael’s face; those big green eyes, marred with worry, stare at him, and Adam wishes he had the words to make it all easier. He wants to say, “I don’t want to lose you either” and “You make my life bearable,” but instead, he leans closer, slowly, so very slowly, giving Michael plenty of time to move away if this isn’t what he wants, and kisses Michael’s wind chapped lips.

 

Though his cheeks are cold, Michael’s lips are warm beneath his own.

 

The kiss is light, soft, nothing like the sloppy, drunk kisses he shared with Katie freshman year at Andy’s party, or with Sarah sophomore year. The kiss isn’t a means to an end; it’s an end in and of itself. He’s kissing Michael because he loves him, not because he hopes to get into his pants. Well, he does, but not right now. Right now he just wants to kiss him and hold him and make it all better for Michael, even though he has no idea how.

 

Michael smiles at Adam when he pulls away, and Adam finds himself smiling back.  “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Michael replies, his smile growing, his eyes flashing like the eerie glow after lightning strikes a tree. He lets out a quiet laugh. “I don’t know what to say now.”

 

“Me neither,” Adam confesses, glancing quickly down at his shoes, then back up to Michael. He huffs and leans in for another quick kiss. “Let’s go.”

 

Adam grabs Michael’s hand and intertwines their fingers. As they walk, Michael swings their hands back and forth, humming quietly to himself. Their smiles don’t lessen at all on the entire walk to the apartment.

 

**

 

No one is at the apartment when he gets back, and he hadn’t been expecting that. He knew Dean had a date, but he had figured that at least Sam would be hanging around, working on his paper or watching Doctor Who or something. The silence envelops them, and it really does feel like it’s him and Michael against the world.

 

He’s grown to like Sam and Dean in a way; they’re not the strangers that  they had been before, but Michael is his family, the one that he’s chosen for himself. Michael means home and safe and protected. Adam’s fingers clench Michael’s, and Michael returns the touch.

 

The idea that plants itself in his mind is impulsive; Adam knows that, but he can’t let Michael go back home and be locked in his room. As someone who spent considerable time locked in his room and the pantry and the bathroom, Adam refuses to let Michael return to that, which leads to his bad idea. “What if we run away for real?”

 

Michael’s mouth opens like he is trying to form words, then closes again. He takes a breath. “I don’t have anything.”

 

“I have money saved up and cash from my job. I have clothes in a backpack.”

 

“Where would we go?” Michael asks, his voice panicky. “What would we do?”

 

His plan is flimsy, feeble; he knows that, but the alternative is losing Michael for at least two months, more if his father uses that time to brainwash him. He can’t lose Michael, not when he’s so close, not when Adam finally got to kiss him. It was different when he thought he was losing Michael because of Michael’s decision, but losing him because his father is a prick is unacceptable. “Just you and me. We can take the Greyhound anywhere we want.”

 

Michael breathes out a heavy sigh. “This is a horrible idea.” His green eyes bore into Adam’s, searching, pleading, something.

 

“I know.”

 

Michael nods slowly. “Let’s do it. We’ll be together, right?”

 

Adam studies Michael’s face, looking for signs of reluctance. He nods. “Let me get my bag.”

 

Adam locates his backpack full of clothes, the one he’s never unpacked in all his time with his brothers, and hands half of the wad of cash to Michael, stuffing the rest into his hoodie pocket. After that he goes over to Sam’s desk and leaves a note on a yellow legal pad telling him that he’s sorry and that he’ll be okay and thanking them for letting him live at the apartment.

 

And then, when it’s all done, he and Michael walk out of the apartment and into the March night, wisps of wind slicing at their skin, heading toward the bus station.

 

**

 

At the station, they buy two tickets for the first bus that’s leaving. They don’t have time to wait in the cold, hard plastic chairs in the terminal after the tickets are in their hands. Instead they immediately go outside and line up with the eight other people who are apparently taking the bus to South Dakota. Michael stands close to him, his warmth pressing against Adam’s left shoulder.

 

Adam glances up at him and sees a blank, unreadable expression on Michael’s face. “We don’t have to do this,” Adam says quietly. “You can go back to your family.”

 

The bus pulls in around the corner and the hiss of the brakes seems loud, seems significant. Michael gently bumps Adam with his shoulder. “I told you--you’re my family. And if this is what it takes, so that I don’t have to lose you, lose us, then I’ll run across the whole earth with you.” Adam couldn’t have said it any better.

 

Adam nods and grips Michael’s forearm, leading him toward the bus. They find a seat four rows up from the back on the right side. Adam gives him the window seat, situating himself between Michael and the rest of the world; Adam knows that Michael has limited to no human interaction outside of school, and he doesn’t want the angel to be overwhelmed.

 

About a half hour into the ride, the adrenaline from their great escape has worn off, and Michael keeps blinking his eyes sleepily. It’s sort of adorable. Eventually, he gives in and rests his head on Adam’s shoulder, sighing contentedly, even though it can’t be that comfortable.

 

An older lady, who is clutching her purse, waddles to the back of the bus to use the restroom and glares at them. Adam has to remind himself that she doesn’t know Michael is an angel. She just thinks they’re gay, which doesn’t make her attitude toward them any better. When the old biddy walks back, shooting them another look of disgust, Adam smiles at her.

 

Adam fiddles with his phone in his hoodie pocket, wanting to pull it out and play games on it to pass the time, but that would require turning it on, and he’s worried that Sam and Dean are going to call and try to talk him out of this. He’ll talk to them; he will, but he wants to put a little distance between them before he does. So, instead, he closes his eyes, resting his head against the top of Michael’s, and wonders what his mom would think of Michael. Would she approve? Would she hate it? Would she invite them to Sunday dinner, or refuse to speak to Adam again?

 

He can’t imagine that his mom would be anything other than supportive. Adam imagines she would have said, “Baby, I only want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, then he’s okay in my book.”

 

He knows his dad would disapprove, but, well, fuck John.

 

A little after two, they stop in Omaha and have to switch buses. Adam is reluctant to wake Michael, but he knows he can’t carry him. Michael groans and pushes his face against Adam’s neck. “What?” Michael whines, and Adam can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. This is a Michael he’s never seen before.

 

“We’re changing buses. You can go back to using me as a pillow in a little bit.”

 

They have to sit in the terminal for two and a half  hours while they wait for the next bus. Michael tucks himself into a corner by the far wall, while Adam runs to the bathroom and to grab two cups of cheap coffee, even though Michael doesn’t like it, just in case he changes his mind and wants to stay awake.

 

As much as Adam would like to sleep, he thinks one of them should stay awake, just to be safe, and since Michael is obviously the more tired of the two of them, Adam has nominated himself.

 

When he gets back, Michael is sitting with his arms crossed, frowning and glaring at the empty row of navy plastic chairs like they have somehow personally offended him. Adam laughs and pats Michael’s head. “You’re cute when you’re tired.”

 

“Are you implying that I’m not cute when I’m wide awake?” he asks grumpily, pouting out his bottom lip.

 

“You’re always adorable.”

 

Adam sits down beside him, placing their Styrofoam coffee cups in the seat next to him. Adam reaches up, his blunt nails scratching the hair at the back of Michael’s head, causing Michael to let out a groan that is entirely inappropriate for a bus station at two something in the morning. It’s not like the place is packed, but it is still loud enough that the dozen or so people there look over at them.

 

“That feels good,” Michael says quietly. Adam wants to reply with something snarky, but Michael keeps talking. “Angels don’t touch each other, hardly ever; even mated couples rarely show physical affection. You humans have a million different ways you touch each other--handshakes and hugs and kisses and sex--and I didn’t realize that it could feel so good, physically and emotionally. Touching creates a link, a bond of sorts. I didn’t realize, before you.”

 

Adam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he slips his hand from Michael’s hair to the back of his neck. Michael looks over at him, his eyes drooping, and gives a tired smile.

 

The bus stops in Sioux City and Vermillion to pick up passengers, but they manage to arrive in Sioux Falls a few minutes after eight. Some lady in a cop uniform is waiting for them as soon as they step off  the bus.

 

“Adam Milligan and Michael Milton,” she says with a sigh. “I’m Sheriff Mills. I need you both to come with me.”

 

“Why, ma’am?” Michael asks, which differs from Adam’s plan of taking off on foot.

 

“You’re underage runaways. And your brothers have been nagging me since last night.” She rolls her eyes. “Follow me, boys.” She starts walking, glancing back to make sure they’re following. Michael is. Adam follows behind, tugging on Michael’s arm.

 

“Where are you going?” he whispers.

 

Michael looks at him like he has three heads and is breathing fire. “I’m following the sheriff.”

 

Adam gapes. “Okay, but why? We don’t know her or what she wants.”

 

“She is in contact with our brothers. Not our fathers. That’s a promising sign.”

 

“They’ll want us to go back.”

 

Michael stops walking and turns to look at him. “Their wants are immaterial.”

 

Adam nods. “As long as we’re on the same page.”

 

**

 

Adam expects to be taken to a police station or somewhere official until his brothers arrive to collect him; he doesn’t expect to be driven to a salvage yard or the rundown house next to it, but the sheriff turns off the car and opens the door to the backseat for them. “Why are we here? What is here?”

 

She ignores Adam’s questions and leads them into the house, yelling out, “Bobby, the boys are here.”

 

There is a clatter of metal against metal in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon wafts through the air. A man in a tattered ball cap looks through the doorway. “You boys hungry?” Michael nods.

 

Adam wants to say he’s not hungry and demand answers for what’s happening, but his stomach growls loudly, so he gives in, saying, “Yeah.” He figures that answers can wait until after he has a belly full of bacon.

 

The sheriff leads them into the kitchen. Michael sits at the table and starts piling pancakes on his plate, like this is all normal. Adam moves a little slower, but finally takes the seat next to Michael’s.

 

Bobby scoops more bacon onto a paper towel-covered plate. He turns off the fire and brings the plate to the table, kissing the sheriff as he walks by. The sheriff smiles fondly at him. “Dean said he should be here by three. Try not to kill them before then.”

 

“I’ll see you later. Chili for dinner.”

 

“Bye,” she says, smiling at Bobby. Then the sheriff turns to Adam and Michael. “Bye, boys.”

 

Bobby sits down at the table and starts preparing his plate. “What in the Sam Hill were you two boys thinking, running away like that?”

 

Michael looks like he’s about to answer, but Adam cuts him off. “It’s none of your business, old man. We don’t know you. We don’t owe you anything.”

 

Bobby looks torn between annoyance and amusement. “Definitely a Winchester,” he mutters just loud enough for Adam to hear, and then takes pleasure in Adam’s scowl. “Okay, you don’t owe me anything. But what about your brothers?”

 

“I left a note.”

 

Bobby snorted. “And did the angel leave a note?” Adam immediately tenses, realizing that he hasn’t been wary enough in this situation. He’s in the middle of fucking nowhere with some guy who may or may not know his brothers. For all he knows, this guy is a serial killer and he likes to prey on runaway angels. “Relax, son. I talked to Dean last night. He explained the situation.”

 

“How do you know Dean?” How do you know our names? Or that he’s an angel?

 

“Met him a while back when he was driving through. He totaled his car. Miracle he survived,” Bobby said in between bites of his pancakes. “They brought his car to the salvage yard, but the boy refused to believe she couldn’t be fixed. Never saw anyone with so much blind hope in my life, so I agreed to help. We rebuilt that car until she was like new. He and I still talk, and when he found out your bus was headed for Sioux Falls, he asked if I could detain you until he showed up. He still driving her?”

 

Adam knew immediately that he meant the Impala. He’d been present to Dean  calling the car “Baby” more times than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. What’s so special about that car?”

 

Bobby narrows his eyes. “It was his mom’s. First car she ever bought, or so he told me.”

 

Adam hadn’t known that. He just thought Dean liked old cars or something; he didn’t know why. How much more did he not know about his brothers?

 

Adam finishes up his carbs and sugar and stands. “I think I’m going to take a walk.”

 

Bobby nods toward the old door at the far end of the kitchen. “Watch out for snakes and Growley. Otherwise, have at it.”

 

“Growley?”

 

The older man puts his hand parallel to the kitchen table. “Big, black dog, about yea high. Sweet as a peach unless he decides he hates you.” Adam scowls at him and weighs the pros and cons. Pro: maybe he can convince Michael to run off with him, and they won’t have to stay put until his brothers show up to drag them back to Kansas. Con: possibly being ripped to shreds.

 

“We’ll risk it. C’mon Mikey.”

 

Bobby shakes his head when Michael stands. “Nope. You go on your walk. He’s staying here.”

 

“I’m not leaving him alone with some creepy, old guy we just met.”

 

Bobby just shrugs and takes another bite of bacon. “Guess you’re both staying here then.”

 

Michael wanders out of the room, and Adam follows behind him, feeling wobbly. It hits Adam that he’s been awake for over twenty-four hours and that he could really go for a nap right about now. He leans against the door frame, watching as Michael flits from shelf to shelf, a look of shock on his face that quickly transforms into awe as he pulls a book out.

 

He mutters something that must be Enochian and spins around to look at Adam. “They’re all angel lore.” Adam frowned, not understanding, and Michael holds out his arms like a model on a TV game show showing off the grand prize. “The books. It’s the largest private collection I’ve ever seen. This is a book of myths like the one my mom used to read to me when I was young.” Michael indicates the book in his hand.

 

“I got it from a friend whose family was banished,” Bobby says from behind Adam. Both boys turn to look at him, the words meaning more to Michael than to Adam. Michael goes silent and still, clutching the book like a mother would clutch her child. “Why did he give them to you?”

 

Bobby scoots his way into the room, bypassing Adam, and sitting down behind a desk. “I teach angelology at the local community college.”

 

“You speak Enochian?”

 

The man opens up a manila folder and takes out a green pen. “Better at reading it than speaking it, but I get by.”

 

“May I borrow it for a few hours?” Michael asks, in the polite voice he uses on teachers at school. It works every time.

 

Bobby waves distractedly, not glancing up from what looks like a stack of term papers. “Knock yourself out.”

 

Michael, still cradling the book close to his chest, exits the room through a far doorway, and Adam trails along behind him. They end up in a living room, a mismatched, but equally worn chair and couch angled toward a television that’s at least fifteen years old. Michael sits on one end of the couch, opening the book with wide eyes.

 

Michael doesn’t talk about his mom much, hardly at all. All Adam has gleaned from the few times Michael has mentioned her is that she died when he was young, and that Michael’s father became really strict after that.

 

Standing there watching Michael makes Adam aware of how tired he is. His limbs feel heavy, achy. He’d give anything for a soft bed. As if he could hear his thoughts, Michael looks up from the book and frowns. “Come lie down. You look exhausted.”

 

“Not enough room on the couch.” Adam is too tall. Not as tall as Sam by any means, but far too tall for the remaining space on the couch.

 

“Put your head in my lap.”

 

Adam is too tired to argue. He rests his head on Michael’s thighs, his legs splayed out on the couch. Michael’s left hand hesitantly lands on the back of Adam’s neck, like he’s unsure of whether or not this is allowed. “Read to me,” Adam asks, knowing that if he lets himself, he’ll be asleep before Michael finishes the first page.

 

“It’s not in English,” Michael says softly.

 

“Don’t care.”

 

The words seem heavy on Michael’s tongue, much more solid than English. English was like skipping pebbles across a stream. Enochian sounded like dropping boulders into that same stream. The weight of the words and the weight of Michael’s hand lulled Adam into an easy, dreamless sleep.

 

**

 

Adam wakes up slowly, each of his senses returning one by one. First, it is sight; he can feel a bright golden ray shining through his eyelids. Scent is next. The warm, familiar scent of _Michael Michael Michael_ registers in his brain, and he wants to bury himself in it. He registers a soft fabric against his cheek and something solid against his ribs, rising and falling with his each breath. Speaking of breath, his mouth tastes gross, like he hasn’t brushed in weeks.

 

Adam groans, opening his eyes, and tries to sit up, but that weight on his ribs keeps him in place, and a quiet voice says, “Easy, easy.”

 

“Michael?” It’s muffled against what Adam realizes is Michael’s thigh, but he’s understood all the same.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You’ve only been asleep an hour and a half. You can’t be rested yet.”

 

“I’m fine,” Adam replies, sitting up despite Michael’s hold on him. His eyelids droop, and his limbs all feel like they have cinder blocks tied to them. His body wants him to sleep, but Adam needs to wake the fuck up. He just let himself fall asleep in the house of a strange man who is obsessed with angels. Something could have happened to Michael, and Adam wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if Michael had been hurt.

 

He needs to stay awake. He needs to protect Michael.

 

“You need to go back to sleep.”

 

“Not safe. This guy could be lying to us.”

 

“He’s not,” Michael said, sighing like Adam was annoying him. “Sam called while you were asleep. He said that they’re on their way.”

 

Adam reached into his pocket, looking for his cell, but it wasn’t there. Michael picked up Adam’s phone from its spot on the armrest. “I turned it on. I’m sorry. And when I did, Sam called. I answered on reflex.” Michael looks at him with big, apologetic, puppy eyes, and Adam hates that he can’t make himself stay mad.

 

“What did he say?”

 

Michael smiles at him, perfectly aware that he has gotten away with stealing Adam’s phone, and also that that look works. “He confirmed Bobby’s story, said that they’d all be here this afternoon to retrieve us.”

 

“Who is all?” Adam asks, shifting on the couch. He is so tired. He just wants to sleep and not deal with this shit right now.

 

“Your brothers, Gabriel, and Castiel.”

 

Adam sighs. “And you’re going back with them?”

 

Michael hesitates before answering, and it fills Adam with dread. “I don’t know,” he says, and Adam turns away. “I mean, if there’s a way we can stay together and finish school, and then go to college, why shouldn’t we take it? Is running around aimlessly a better choice?”

 

Adam fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, refusing to face Michael. It’s petty and childish, he knows; he knows this in the same way he knows that realistically they can’t run away, that it’s a pipe dream, that it’s unsustainable, but that doesn’t mean that Adam isn’t willing to try. He wants Michael all to himself, and that want is going to get him into trouble.

 

“Adam,” Michael says, but he doesn’t budge. Michael sighs loudly and rests his head against Adam’s shoulder.  The angel has gotten so affectionate since the kiss in the park, the kiss that took place a little over fourteen hours ago. Adam couldn’t help but flashback to what Michael had said in the bus terminal, that angels don’t touch one another, but it isn’t like Adam is used to being touched either.

 

His mom had given him hugs and kisses and they snuggled together on the couch, but the only form of physical contact he got from his dad was a fist to the face or a boot to the gut. Yes, Adam had hooked up with a few girls, but that was sex. This--Michael pressed up against his side, breathing in time with him like they were one being instead of two--was as new to Adam as it was to Michael. “Adam,” the angel said again, “I want us to be together, so if you don’t go with them, then I won’t either. I’ll follow where you lead. But I think we should at least listen to what they have to say before making that decision.”

 

Damn him. Adam doesn’t want logic right now. Adam wants him and Michael together, kissing, maybe fucking, in a motel room that they found between Greyhound trips. He wants a world where he can go to college and Michael can be a healer and they can be happy together without Michael having to lose his brothers or sisters, because he knows what it’s like to feel like you have nothing, and he doesn’t want that for Michael.

 

So, yeah, of course Adam is going to agree to hear them out, if only for the hope that Michael can keep his family, his brothers and sister, even if they are dicks.

 

“How’s the angel book you were reading?” Adam asks, slowly shifting back toward Michael. He doesn’t meet the angel’s eyes, but he doesn’t really need to, because Michael still has his head on Adam’s shoulder, his scent surrounding Adam.

 

“It’s just like the one my mom read to me when I was young. Lucifer took it with him when he left us, and then when he...when he died,” Michael said, stumbling over his words, “it wasn’t with his belongings. I couldn’t even remember the title of the book, just the picture of the sky on the cover.”

 

Adam tilts his head, resting his temple on top of Michael’s uncharacteristically messy hair. “What was your favorite story?”

 

“ _The Story of the Angels_. It’s the myth of how angels came to be on earth, to walk among humans.”

 

Adam never would have guessed that angels had creation myths like humans did, but it made sense. Though the amount of angelic and human interaction had increased in the last two hundred years, before that it was virtually nonexistent. Angels were a closed off group, and humans were too afraid of what power they might wield to force them  out into the open. “Tell it to me?” Adam asks.

 

“It says that there was once was an angel who fell in love with a man and watched him every day from his post on  high. One day, though, he was no longer content to watch from a distance, so he left his post, which is a grave offense,” Michael said. “The angel presented himself to the man, but the man was terrified and feared that the angel was sent from the Father to kill him. The angel reached out a hand to soothe the man’s soul, accidentally binding them. Upon their union, the man received the angel’s full knowledge, and it overpowered him, driving him mad, and killed him. The angel fell next beside his love, dying along with him. When the Father discovered what had been done, He went into a rage and banished all angels from the posts on high, saying that if the angels wanted so badly to walk among humans, then they would for all of their days. The story has been used to oppose angel-human unions in the past, but more people are realizing that to use a thousand year old story to justify keeping apart two people who love each other is ridiculous.”

 

“Why is that your favorite story?” Adam asks. From where he’s sitting, that is a horrible story. The angels saw being among humans as a punishment. Oh, and also, don’t bind yourself to a human, because you’ll both die. Great bedtime stories.

 

“My mom, after she would read it, would say, “Pash, you know this is just a story to make us fear humans. It means nothing. Bind yourself to the one your grace sings for.”

 

“Pash? I thought your name was Michael.”

 

The angel laughs, clear and bright. “It means child or little one. Didn’t your mother ever call you something other than your name?”

 

Adam nods, giving up on fighting not to smile at the sound of Michael’s laughter. “She called me baby, even when I was eleven.”

 

Michael huffs, his warm breath tickling Adam’s neck. “Baby,” he murmurs, and it sounds so different coming from his low timbre. “I think I prefer Adam.”

 

“I don’t know,” Adam replies. “I think I could get used to you saying baby.”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

It doesn’t feel weird that he and Michael are so close, arms wrapped around one another, heads resting together. It should be weird. Or awkward, but it’s not. They fit. They fit like they are corresponding puzzles pieces just waiting to be put together, and that’s a little scary.

 

“What did your mom mean, ‘the one your grace sings for’?”

 

“It’s like your human soul mates theory, that one person you’re meant to be with it. It’s the same concept. It simply says that an angel will know who they are meant to bond with because their grace will sing, will reach out for the other person every time they’re together.”

 

Adam considers that. He’s never believed in soul mates. His mom didn’t grow up telling him that, perhaps because she didn’t believe it herself. Adam wonders if Michael believes it. “Is it true?”

 

“My mom always said it was. I didn’t believe her then. It sounded like another myth,” Michael says with a smile. “But I believe it now. I believe it, because my grace aches  for your soul.”

 

Adam’s breath catches in his throat, choking him. He coughs a few times until he can’t delay it any longer. It sounds like a cheesy line, but Michael doesn’t say lines. “It does?” Michael nods. “Ache, though? Love really does make you miserable.”

 

Michael laughs again, and, god, Adam loves that sound. “It does.”

 

Adam slowly extracts himself from Michael, promising that he’ll be right back. Bobby is still sitting at his desk, scribbling notes in the margins of a paper and frowning. It takes Adam clearing his throat and coughing and standing right in front of his desk to get Bobby to look up. “Do you have a book on angel unions or whatever they’re called?”

 

Bobby snorts, looking amused. “Middle bookcase. Third and fourth shelves. I have about forty five books on them, but for your case, I’d look for the bright blue one on the fourth shelf.” Adam walks over to the shelves and locates the book without much fuss. It’s a new book, its hardback cover still shiny. The white title stands out against the bright blue background: _A Complete Idiot’s Guide to Angel and Human Bonding_. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bobby. “Good luck, boy,” Bobby says as Adam walks out of the room, and Adam resists the urge to flip him off.

 

**

Out of spite, Adam uses the bright orange highlighter that he found on the kitchen table on the book Bobby suggested. He’d be angrier if the book wasn’t actually informative--like, who knew there was more than one way to bond with an angel? Michael had told him about the wing thing, but, apparently, that was usually more symbolic for angels and humans, because most angels had already shared part of their grace with their human’s soul--and when did Adam become Michael’s human? It makes him sound like a puppy.

 

Angels and humans can also bond through healing, which Gabriel had told him, or simply by offering their grace or soul to the other person, which sounds really straightforward, but turns out to be less so.

 

Michael sits beside him at the kitchen table, stealing chips off of his plate, waiting for their brothers to show up. Despite having thirty six missed calls from before Michael had answered his phone and talked to Sam, no one has called since, just one little text message saying that they had just arrived in Sioux Falls. Adam is sure this is a bad sign.

 

Dad was like this.

 

He’d rant and rave until his face turned purple, and then he’d go silent. And that’s when Adam knew he needed to worry. Adam had learned early on that it was better just to face whatever punishment he was going to dole out instead of run. Running only made it worse. Once, Dad had dislocated Adam’s shoulder, dragging him out from his hiding place under his bed, and that was before he broke two ribs and gave him a black eye. He was gone from school for a week that time.

 

Adam must be giving off some weird vibes, because Michael takes the highlighter from Adam’s grip and intertwines their fingers. He squeezes gently. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“Promise?” It’s stupid. Michael can’t promise that, but he wants Michael to pretend that he can.

 

Michael nods. “I promise.” The sound of tires on gravel makes Adam squirm. He closes the angel book and puts it in his backpack; he’ll mail it back to Bobby later. Michael picks up the bright highlighter and traces a familiar sigil on the back of Adam’s hand. It’s the same one that Michael has traced over and over again on the slide at the park. “It means protection or safety. It means no harm will come to you.”

 

Adam rests his forehead against Michael’s. It shouldn’t be this easy, and, okay, the path to them getting together hasn’t been easy and everyone else still wants to separate them, but him and Michael, them together, that’s the easiest thing in the world. Michael gets him, like no one else has, and it’s terrifying and wonderful and he knows that there is no going back with Michael.

 

He is going to end up bonded to Michael or dead. There are no other options for him at this point.

 

Dean enters the house without knocking and walks to Bobby’s study first. The others trail in behind him, going straight to the kitchen and finding them. Sam sighs, his whole body heaving. “I am beyond pissed at you, but I’m glad you’re both okay.” When Adam doesn’t give a response, Sam sighs again, collapsing in the seat next to him. “What were you thinking, Adam?”

 

“It was nothing against you guys, but Michael’s dad was going to lock him in his room like some Disney princess and make him transfer schools, and I couldn’t...” Adam trails off, looking up at his brother. “He’s my family. No offense, you and  Dean have been great, but if I have to choose, I’m choosing him.”

 

“But why do you think you have to choose?” Sam asks.

 

“Michael already did. He escaped his house and found me. He has nowhere else to go.” Michael squeezes Adam’s hand, and Adam turns  back to look at him, seeing the other angels standing in the doorway.

 

“Yes, but you did. You had us. You could have asked us for help. We helped you, Adam,” Sam says, and Adam’s already shaking his head. He hates this argument, but it’s one that he can’t get past. Sam and Dean had taken him in, yes, but it didn’t make up for anything.

 

“Do you even know how full of shit you are? You helped me after I showed up bloody and bruised as a result of your first attempt to help. If you wanted to help me so badly, then you were about five years too late. Five years you left me alone with him. Both of you,” Adam says, turning his head to glare at Dean, who just entered the kitchen. “At least you got Sam out, right? That’s what really matters. Who gives a fuck about the bastard son you never met? And you think I was going to come to you for help? You’re fucking delusional.”

 

Adam stands up quickly, knocking his chair over in the process and elbows his way out of the room. He walks through the hall, through the living room, throws open the front door, and escapes into the yard. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s having a panic attack, but he hasn’t had one of those in years, not since his mom was in the hospital.

 

Living with Sam and Dean made him forget how much he hates them, because they were actually pretty cool guys, smart and decent and they were kind to him while he was there, never treated him like a burden. But was that supposed to erase everything that did, or rather hadn’t done, while he was trapped at John’s house? It was like a nightmare, the worst kind of nightmare, and some days he had been sure that he’d wake up to find his mom in the kitchen making pancakes, but instead he’d wake up to his dad passed out on the couch and bruises on his sides.

 

He’s hated Sam and Dean for as long as he’s known about them, and he’s not sure he’ll ever stop.

 

A big black dog trots up to him and then rolls over on its back like it wants its tummy rubbed. And this was the dog that was supposed to eat him alive. Despite himself, Adam starts laughing, sitting on the cold ground to pet the dog.

 

It’s soothing to pet Growley, easy, and he finds himself calming down from his panic attack, no more panicked breathing, and no more hysterical laughter. He hears the footsteps approaching him, but doesn’t look up, figuring that will just encourage whoever is coming his way. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or relieved that it’s Dean. He and Sam probably rock paper scissor-ed on who was going to have to deal with the bastard, and Dean sucked at rock paper scissors.

 

He crouches down beside them, petting behind Growley’s ears, and Growley barks at him, giving Adam an odd sense of satisfaction. Dean pulls his hand away but remains crouched next to them. “You don’t need to talk, but I want you to listen. This story is long overdue.”

 

Dean stares at Adam--he can feel it without even looking up--until Adam nods. He doesn’t particularly want to listen, but he will. For some reason, Adam can handle Dean better than Sam. It’s not that he doesn’t like Sam; it’s just that Sam manages to piss him off more. Sam had it easier; he had Dean to take care of him and watch out for him. Dean, though, gets it. He was the one who put up with the beatings, the one who raised himself. The one who remembers enough of his mother to mourn what he’s lost.

 

“My whole goal growing up was to get me and Sam out of Dad’s house alive, and relatively unharmed, so I did. I started working when I was like fourteen, washing dishes at restaurants or mowing lawns in the summer, seriously anything to make money and keep me and Sam out of the house. I saved and I saved, and I kept working because Sam had big dreams. He wanted to be a lawyer, and college was expensive, you know. So, Sam gets into KU, and everything is great. We both made it out alive, but Sam won’t answer my phone calls and he switched dorm rooms. I get it now, he was trying to make it so Dad had no clue where he was, but he included me in that too, thought I’d tell Dad or something. We didn’t talk for two years. I decided to go driving around the country, wrecked the Impala outside of Sioux Falls. Did Bobby tell you  that?”

 

Adam nods. “He said you rebuilt it.”

 

“Yeah. I did, and when I got back to town, I drove by the house. Dad had been sober in the last year or so before Sam graduated, and I wanted to see if it kept. But I didn’t see him at the house, I saw you sitting on the front porch. You were a gangly, little thing, all arms and legs, but you looked just like Sam had when  he was your age, minus the blond hair. I knew--I don’t know how I knew, but I knew--that you were our brother. I called SRS and asked that they do a welfare check, because I suspected child abuse, but you were fine, I guess, because they didn’t take you away.

 

I tracked down Sam; I have a friend who is a private investigator, and she got me his new number. I told him about you, but he didn’t believe me at first, not until I took him by the house and he saw you. I gave you my number, do you remember?”

 

Adam nods again, remembering the day that they showed up at the front door. Dad never talked about them, but Adam had seen the pictures all over the house. He knew he had brothers, and he’d always wondered what happened to them. Then they show up on the porch, introducing themselves and all Adam can think about is that Dad will flip out if Adam lets them in the house. “I remember.”

 

“I asked you to call if you needed anything.”

 

“I was fourteen. And I didn’t know you,” Adam says. “Why would I go to you?”

 

Dean doesn’t acknowledge that. “We took you out for lunch on your birthday and at Christmas. I called every few weeks. I tried to have a relationship with you. I tried to look out for you, but you didn’t say anything. You looked tired and thin--you still look tired and thin--but you never had bruises where I could see them. You never limped or held yourself. I know the signs, trust me, I know, but I could never be sure. I called SRS a few more times, whenever I suspected, but I never knew how to ask you.”

 

“Hey, Adam, does Dad beat the shit out of you when he’s drunk like he did with me?” Adam says.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Adam shrugs, looking down at Growley, who had shifted and now had her head in Adam’s lap. “I figured you knew and just didn’t care.”

 

“I cared. I care,” Dean says, completely serious. “I asked Gabriel to look into ways that I could become your legal guardian, but we’d have to have Dad sign away his rights. And I’m not sure that he would, but he’s also not going to try to get you back, because that means going to court and we’ll bring up his abuse. So, I guess that means, if you want to, that you stay with us until you leave for college, or until you and Michael bond.”

 

“It’s not like I’m going to stop being mad about Dad or you or Sam.”

 

Dean nods. “I know. I don’t need you to stop being mad. I need you to be safe, and you’ll be safer with us than touring Middle America with an angel in tow.” Adam looks back up. “Cas has an extra bedroom at his apartment. He’s willing to let Michael borrow it, though he might be alone for a couple of weeks this spring when Cas and I go off to do our bonding thing.”

 

“He finally asked then?” Dean nods. “He’s pretty cool for a nerdy dude with wings.”

 

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Dean agrees, though he’s smiling really wide, and looks happier than Adam has ever seen him. “What about yours? Did he ask?”

 

Adam shakes his head. “No, but it’s inevitable.”

 

“Will you come back with us?” Dean asks. And it sounds like he’s actually asking, not one of those question-commands that he sometimes uses.

 

“Yeah.”

 

**

 

They eat dinner at Bobby’s, all sprawled out in the living room, while Bobby and Dean catch up and Cas and Michael talk quietly beside Adam on the couch. Gabriel is telling a completely ridiculous story to the sheriff, which he claims is one hundred percent true, and she doesn’t look like she believes him, but she’s still laughing along. Sam is sitting beside them wearing an amused smile.

 

He and Sam had talked after he and Dean had talked, and surprisingly there was no yelling and very little sarcasm, both of which are his normal reactions in an argument, his normal reactions to Sam.

 

Sam isn’t a bad guy; he’s actually ridiculously nice. Adam doesn’t know why Sam provokes him so much. He really doesn’t. They seem okay now, though. Adam thinks they are anyway.

 

After dinner, they get motel rooms, since Dean and Gabriel don’t feel like driving the eight hours back to Lawrence after all their driving today. They get three rooms--one for Dean and Cas, one for Gabriel and Adam, and one for Sam and Michael. Adam doesn’t want to tempt fate and mess up something with Sam, so he figures it is best to stay away, and the others had vetoed him and Michael sharing a room, because they are both still a flight risk or something, even though they both agreed to come back.

 

He and Michael sit on the small patch of concrete that separates Adam and Gabriel’s room from Sam and Michael’s, staring out at the overcast sky and snuggling to preserve warmth. Adam turns his head toward the angel and Adam’s nose brushes along Michael’s cheek. “Did we make the right decisions? Are you okay with living with Castiel? You barely know him.”

 

“Your brothers like him, and you like him. That’s all I need to know,” Michael says. “And I think it’s the right choice. Finish up school. Find a healer academy near one of the schools you got into. Bond.”

 

“I borrowed that book from Bobby, but if there is anything else about the bonding that you think I should know...”

 

“It’s permanent,” Michael says firmly, like he wants Adam to pay attention, to understand. “The few couplings that tried to separate their bond went mad. It can’t be done without it damaging one or both of us, so don’t say yes if it’s not what you want.”

 

Adam kisses Michael’s jaw, kisses the corner of his mouth. “I want you. I was miserable when I thought you were going to bond with someone else.”

 

“Just be sure.” Michael’s breath feels warm against Adam’s lips as he kisses him, and it feels  like coming home after a month on the road, even if the simile makes no sense because they’ve only kissed once before. Michael’s hand cups Adam’s jaw, and he deepens the kiss. Adam sucks on Michael’s bottom lip, and the angel moans, startling Adam.

 

“You’re it for me,” Adam says as he pulls away. “It sounds like every dumb high school kid who is in love, but you are. We’ll go to college and we’ll live together and it won’t be easy, because they wouldn’t be our lives if they were easy, but you’re the one person that I can’t live without. Being with you makes all the other shit in my life seem bearable.”

 

**

 

Gabriel is on his bed in the motel room, eating a packet of Skittles when Adam and Michael say goodnight and go to their respective rooms. Adam pouts a little, sticking out his bottom lip, and suddenly an unopened packet hits his chest. He cradles the Skittles and sits down on his bed, slipping off his shoes.

 

“Did you choose to share a room because you are avoiding Sam, or that you really, really missed me and wanted to have a slumber party and stay up late talking about boys and painting our nails?”

 

Adam snorts. “Why can’t it be both?” Gabriel makes a noise halfway between amused and annoyed. The good thing about Gabriel, maybe the best thing about him, was that even though he told outrageous stories that couldn’t possibly true, when it came down to something really important, he didn’t bullshit you. He didn’t try to pad it with flowery words like Sam. Or avoid the topic for as long as possible like Dean. “Though wouldn’t it be awkward that I was talking about your brother?”

 

“You’re going to bond with him.”

 

It isn’t a question, but Adam answers anyway. “Yeah, sometime this summer before school starts.”

 

Gabriel pops a handful of Skittles in his mouth.  “You know that he doesn’t have to go straight to a healer academy. He could go to college with you, and go to an academy after that. That’s what Cas was going to do. That’s what most angels do. You don’t have to rush into bonding.”

 

“We’re not rushing,” Adam says, but Gabe rolls his eyes.

 

“You two weren’t even together  a few days ago.”

 

“But I’ve been in love with him since I was fourteen.”

 

Gabe sighs, the same sigh Michael does when he’s annoyed at Adam. “You’re a child.”

 

Adam crosses his arms across his chest defensively. Why does he keep getting into arguments today? Does he have some big sign around his neck that says, “Please try and piss me off”? Adam takes big, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. When he feels reasonably certain that he can open his mouth without yelling, Adam tries again.

 

“I love Michael. I’m sorry if you think my reasoning is childish, but that is between me and my mate. We’ve talked about him putting off the academy  for college, but he no longer has the guarantee of his dad helping to pay for school, and we don’t want to go further into debt than what we have to. I’m going to bond with him, and soon. We’d like you at the ceremony since we doubt anyone else from his family will be, but I understand if you choose not to let Michael have that.”

 

“I’m being an ass,” Gabe says, not exactly apologetically, but more of an acknowledgement of his behavior.

 

Adam forces himself to uncross his arms. Gabriel is not the enemy. “It’s okay. Apparently, it’s genetic on Michael’s side of the family. I’ve been mentally preparing myself on the possibility that my children will be assholes.”

 

Gabriel snorts, and it helps Adam’s calm even more. “I...When I left, when I ran away, I was the same age Michael is right now, and I know I wasn’t ready to bond with anyone. But,” he pauses, meeting Adam’s eye, “I didn’t have anyone looking out for me like you look out for him, the way you look after each other.  I still don’t.”

 

“What’s the deal with you and Sam?” Adam asks, unable to contain it. Adam had seen them dancing around each other the whole time he’d lived with his brothers, and it didn’t look to be a new occurrence. Sam and Gabriel were already comfortable in their banter, in their reactions.

 

“No deal,” Gabriel says.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Gabriel pours the last few Skittles in his mouth and chews them slowly, buying himself time. “I love him. He doesn’t love me.”

 

Adam rolls his eyes. “Again, I’m calling bullshit.”

 

“Call bullshit all you want. It doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Talk to him. Seriously, Gabe, talk to him.”

 

**

 

Adam stands in the middle of the living room, fiddling with his tie. He fucking hates ties. Michael is still trying to convince him to wear one to the bonding ceremony, but has yet to present an argument that sways Adam. “I don’t understand why I have to wear a tie. No one is even going to see it under my robe.”

 

Michael gets off the couch and fixes it for him. “Because you look really good in one.” Michael pulls gently on the tie, dragging Adam forward into a kiss. Adam meets Michael’s eyes, and he’s a little concerned at the mischievousness lurking there.

 

A flash goes off and startles them both. Sam is standing there with a big smile on his face, his camera in his hands. Before Adam and Michael have a chance to react, Sam  takes another one.

 

Adam gestures at his brother. “He doesn’t have to wear a tie.”

 

“You don’t have to wear one either,” Michael says nonchalantly, and Adam stares at him, wondering what he’s playing at. “You don’t have to, but I’d like it if you did.” Michael then presses a kiss to Adam’s jaw.

 

It’s not even overly sexual, just a soft press of lips, but Adam is sexually frustrated; he has been trapped in a perpetual state of frustration since they started kissing. It wasn’t a conscious decision to wait until the bonding ceremony to have sex. It was more that between sharing space with his brothers and Michael living with Cas, they were never alone, save for the hours they spent at the park, but Adam wasn’t going to take Michael’s virginity next to the merry-go-round, so they waited.

 

“Fuck,” Adam mumbles. “Fine, you win.”

 

Michael smiles, his mouth still against Adam’s jaw. “Does this mean you’ll wear a tie to the bonding ceremony too?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Sex isn’t such a mystery to Michael as it was to him at the beginning of their relationship; whether that is because of the, um, hands-on knowledge he has gained recently, or because Gabriel has been educating him on their brother bonding trips every Sunday for the last two months, Adam doesn’t know, doesn’t really care. He’s just happy that Michael is happy. They’re both happy.

 

Adam tilts Michael’s chin up so that their eyes meet. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Michael says, smoothing down Adam’s tie. “Come on. It’s time to go graduate.”

 

**

Because Adam’s last name was never legally changed from Milligan after his mother’s death, he and Mr. Michael Milton are seated next to each other at graduation. He holds his mate’s hand. They haven’t bonded yet, but calling Michael his boyfriend feels like cheapening what they have.

 

Cas calls Dean his mate, though Dean calls Cas his husband. They’d had their bonding ceremony at the beginning of the month, and Adam has only seen them twice since then, both times briefly. If Adam had thought that the two had staring and personal space issues before, it was nothing like them now. They are absorbed in one another. It is actually really sweet, not that Adam would tell Dean that.

 

He wonders if that’s what he and Michael will be like.

 

When he crosses the stage to receive his fake diploma--the real one won’t come in the mail until the summer--he hears his brothers whoop and cheer, and then they do the same when Michael crosses the stage.

 

After the graduation ceremony, while their classmates are throwing their caps in the air, Adam drops his cap on his chair and pulls Michael in for a kiss.

 

**

 

Adam corresponds with Bobby, making sure that he fully understands what goes into the bonding ceremony. He doesn’t want to fuck up anything on his end. Michael’s part is pretty straightforward--show Adam his wings and wait for Adam’s soul to accept him.

 

Adam’s part is a bit trickier. First, he has to accept Michael’s grace, which Bobby and Michael and Cas and Dean all insist he’ll be able to do easily, as if on instinct. That’s not even the part Adam is really worried about. He’s far more concerned about reaching out his soul toward Michael’s grace. He doesn’t know how to do that.

 

He’s just now getting used to the whole idea that not only does he have a soul, but that it’s a tangible thing that he has some measure of control over.

 

So, he messages Bobby at least once a day. Bobby gets sick of him. Adam can tell. It doesn’t stop him, though, because he is going to bond with Michael; it’s the most important thing in his life right now--more important than college, which is starting in a month and a half.

 

******

 

On the night before their bonding ceremony, before they have a midnight curfew because Sam is a traditionalist--even if there is absolutely nothing traditional about Adam and Michael’s bonding--and believes that they can’t see each other the day of the ceremony, they go to the playground, sitting at the highest point, tracing their names into each other’s skin, first with a Sharpie, then with fingers and lips and teeth.

 

Adam still can’t believe that this is his life, that he’s allowed to touch Michael, to mark him as his, and that tomorrow Adam will leave a permanent mark on Michael’s grace, a sign that every other angel will recognize as the mark of a mate. Adam will be Michael’s mate. And Michael will be his.

 

The thought sends a thrill up Adam’s spine as he clutches harder to the angel, pushing as close to Michael as he can. Michael is on his tongue and teeth. Michael fills his senses, but Adam wants more--he wants a bed and his mate laid out before him.

 

Adam pulls back reluctantly, knowing that if he lets himself delve too deep into the fantasy that nothing will be able to stop him from having sex with Michael next to the slide, which makes him feel like a creeeper who can’t control himself. Michael deserves better, so Adam can wait another night or two.

 

**

 

Adam does end up wearing a tie to the bonding ceremony, because, damn, Michael can be persuasive. At least Michael has to wear one too, not that the angel looks like he minds; Michael could probably be wearing sweats and a hoodie at this point. He looks so happy. Adam wonders if he looks that happy. He hopes so, because he feels that happy--like his heart is about to burst from his chest and spew love guts all over their friends and family.

 

Like Dean and Castiel’s bonding ceremony, Adam and Michael’s is similar to a human wedding, though the vows are a little different--that, and no open bar.

 

Gabriel, Sam, Dean, and Castiel circle the pair, joining hands. “May your love shine like the morning sun and your sorrows be but dim shadows. May your joy be like the ocean and your troubles be as light as the foam. May your path be wide and long, and may you always walk together.” While Gabriel and Castiel did the traditional angelic gesture--palms and foreheads together; the book Bobby gave him said it was supposed to represent wisdom and community--Adam hugged his brothers.

 

After they sit down, Adam knows that it’s his turn. He turns toward his mate, meeting his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

 

“I knit my soul to your grace, my heart to your heart, my future to your future. I no longer walk through this world alone, but with you at my side.” Adam smiles at his mate, thankful he didn’t stumble over the words and embarrass himself. The tremble in his voice was bad enough.

 

Michael smiles back, those green eyes incandescent. “I knit my grace to your soul, my heart to your heart, my future to your future. I no longer walk through this world alone, but with you at my side.”

 

He and Michael join hands, and Adam lets out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. “I love you,” Adam says quietly, so that only his mate can hear. Somehow, Michael’s smile grows wider, and he says, “I love you too.”

 

Finally, the ceremony is over, and Adam is allowed to kiss his mate, his husband. The humans cheer. The angels titter about, like it is offending their delicate sensibilities. But Adam doesn’t hear them, doesn’t care. All he can think about is Michael.

 

**

 

The day after the bonding ceremony, Adam and Michael drive to Branson where Bobby has a cabin on the lake that he is letting them borrow. They’ll spend two weeks here, and hopefully by the end of that time Adam will have finally figured out how to connect his soul to Michael’s grace, like the whole process is some sort of elaborate Christmas tree lighting.

 

Them being set apart from their friends and family is supposed to make the whole process smoother. This way they only have themselves to worry about for two weeks. They drop off their bags at the apartment before running down to a small grocery store to pick up supplies for at least a few days. Adam imagines that if this all goes well, he’s not going to want to leave the cabin.

 

They put away the groceries in silence, unpack their bags, and then stare awkwardly at each other from across the bedroom. Michael’s face is on lockdown, the stoicism he only usually reserves for his father is out in full force, and Adam hates it. “We don’t have to try right now,” Adam says. “We can cook lunch and watch TV for a little bit. We don’t have to rush if you aren’t ready.”

 

Michael sighs, and behind his eyes are a million words that he’s not saying. “We could make spaghetti.”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

Cooking a meal with Michael really solidifies the whole mate thing. It’s so domestic. It’s even more domestic than when they drove to Oklahoma City to pick out an apartment together and sign the leasing agreement, since Adam is going to OU and Michael is going to the healer academy two miles from campus. It’s more domestic than when they picked out a bedspread, because they’ll be sharing a bed. It’s more domestic than standing in front of their friends and family and promising his soul and his future to Michael.

 

Them cooking spaghetti is what makes it all click in Adam’s mind. This is his life. This is his forever, and he really really likes the idea.

 

Adam puts down his spoon and walks over to where Michael is preparing the salad--because Michael is a proper adult who eats vegetables on purpose--and wraps his arms around his mate’s torso. Michael turns his head to look back at Adam and smiles, and there it is. That’s so much better. Adam smiles back.

 

“After lunch,” Michael says, his voice level, “I want to show you my wings.”

 

Adam nods. “Okay.” He catches the corner of Michael’s mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his mate’s lips. “Are you nervous?”

 

Michael turns back to the chopping board in front of him, placing the knife next to the tomatoes--Adam’s going to have to pick those out of his salad; Michael doesn’t yet know that Adam hates tomatoes. Then Michael turns fully in Adam’s hold, so that they’re facing. “Will you be mad if I say yes?” Adam shakes his head. Of course he won’t be mad. Adam is nervous as hell, and he’s not the one who has to manifest his wings. “I’m a little nervous.”

 

Michael’s hands grip Adam’s biceps, and he leans his forehead against Adam’s, so that they’re sharing breath. “Mikey, it’s okay. I love you. I love everything about you, and I’m going to love your wings.”

 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Michael just nods, closing his eyes and letting Adam hold him close. The timer on the stove goes off and startles them both. Reluctantly, Adam pulls away to turn off the heat under the spaghetti. He strains it and then stirs the spaghetti sauce.

 

Lunch is relatively quiet, both too caught up in their own thoughts to carry on a proper conversation, but it’s not like either of them needed a lot of pointless words. Adam actually liked that about Michael. Yes, they talked, when they had a reason too, but he didn’t feel compelled to fill up their silences with trivial conversation.

Adam does the dishes while Michael puts the leftovers into Tupperware containers, and Adam secretly can’t wait to tease Bobby about having Tupperware. Then, when there is nothing left to clean or shine or put away, they sit on the couch in the living room, Michael trembling against Adam’s side.

 

Michael doesn’t get scared. He doesn’t. Not like this. Yet, here he is, shaking like a frightened puppy who can’t find its way home. “How can I help you? How can I make this easier?”

 

Instead of answering, Michael stands up, reaching out for Adam’s hands. His slumped shoulders straighten as he twines Adam’s fingers with his own and stands at his full height. Adam stands in front of him, watching as Michael closes his eyes, a brief furrow in his brows disappearing as serenity smoothes Michael’s features.

 

Adam stares at his mate in wonder until he catches a glimpse of something in his periphery. Wings. Adam can see Michael’s wings. He gasps and staggers backward, but Michael’s grip on his hands tightens and it keeps Adam standing. Adam’s eyes can’t decide where to look--left wing, Michael’s pursed lips, right wing, Michael’s worry-filled eyes, and then cycling back through from the beginning.

 

Michael’s wings are a golden, off-white that turns honey-colored at the tips, and the soft-looking feathers flutter under Adam’s gaze, though it looks like Michael is trying to contain them. Adam’s hand reaches out hesitantly before he pulls back. “Can I?”

 

“Yes.” His voice is low, quiet. Adam looks up at his face, trying to decipher the wide eyes and set jaw of his mate. “Please.”

 

Adam remembers that one spring when he was young his mom had taken him to the Windom Spring Festival. There had been baby chicks, and this nice old lady with blue-gray hair had placed one in his hand; the downy fluff tickled his palm and he had accidentally dropped it back in the cage. Adam had cried, worried that he had hurt the tiny bird, but the nice old lady just picked up the chick and placed it back in his hands, so that he could see for himself that it was alright.

 

Adam is worried he is going to accidentally mess up with Michael, because it won’t be as simple as picking him up. If he fucks up now, the damage could be permanent.  His fingers lightly skim the feathers visible over Michael’s left shoulder, the gentle curve of bone that feels so fragile, so breakable. It isn’t as soft as down, but they are smooth, light, and Adam doesn’t want to let go.

 

“They’re beautiful,” he says, his eyes meeting Michael’s, those green eyes bright and open. “How do I--what do I do now?” Adam struggles to remember what Dean had told him about accepting Michael’s grace. How is he supposed to accept?

 

“Breathe, Adam,” his mate says. “The book and your brother both said you need to be relaxed. I’m reaching out my grace. See if you can feel it.”

 

Adam stills, his eyelids drooping closed as he tries to relax his body, but is mentally kicking himself. He can’t shut off his brain. Adam lets his fingers trace the curve of Michael’s wing with his right hand, while his left held tight to Michael’s.

 

Suddenly, like it has always been there, he can feel a warm pressure pushing against his ribs. Adam lets out a shaky breath, trying to relax as Michael’s grace brushes against his soul. ‘ _Yes_ ,’ he tries to get his soul to say. ‘ _Yes. Mine. Mate._ ’

 

Adam takes another breath, more stable this time, and as he exhales, he feels a connection--it doesn’t feel like a fireworks explosion or the rush of a river; instead it is like two puzzle pieces coming together, an overwhelming sense of rightness flows through him. _Mine. Mate._

 

“Michael,” Adam whispers, his words barely louder than a breath, and opens his eyes to stare at the angel. Michael is beaming, his smile wide, his wings flapping gently. “Oh my god.”

 

Michael rushes forward, capturing Adam in a quick kiss. “I want to try something.” Adam feels a ping at the point he realizes is where his soul connects with the angel’s grace, like someone is poking his left side on the ribs just below his heart. “Can you feel me?”

 

Adam nods quickly. “Yeah. Yes, I can. I’m going to try now, if that’s okay.”

 

“Yes,” Michael says with a smile, and, Jesus, he looks happy. Adam really likes that look. Michael smiles even wider. “I can feel your happiness. I want you to feel mine too.”

 

Adam closes his eyes and tries to find their connection again, but it’s fainter now, harder to find. “Poke me again.” Michael touches Adam’s arm, and Adam laughs, opening his eyes. “Not like that. The thing you were doing earlier. It felt like you were poking my soul.”

 

Michael smiles, looking embarrassed. “Oh, that.” Michael furrows his brow, and the connection pulses. Adam concentrates on that point, trying to get access to his soul, so that he can offer it to Michael. But, because this is Adam’s life, and nothing can go easily for Adam; he can’t do it. His soul refuses to budge.

Adam lets out a frustrated groan after five minutes of trying, all of his earlier enthusiasm about their connection fading quickly. Michael sighs, and the pressure of Michael’s grace against his is stronger and softer at the same time, like it is trying to soothe him, and maybe it is. Michael had said he could feel Michael’s happiness. Maybe he can feel his aggravation too.

 

“It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen now.”

 

“I want it to happen now,” Adam says, pulling away from Michael.

 

“We can take our time. There’s no need to rush.”

 

Adam groans, dropping down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. “God, Michael. This whole thing is making me feel impotent, like I’m an eighty-year-old man who can’t get it up anymore. Is there some kind of soul Viagra, because that would be great right now.”

 

There is a slight dip in the couch on the left side of his knees, then the right, and then a familiar weight settles on his thighs as Michael straddles him. He pulls Adam’s hands from his face and holds them in his own. “Speaking of getting it up, I was promised sex on this honeymoon.” Adam chokes on some spit and immediately starts laughing, even though he can’t breathe.

 

“Did Gabriel tell you to say that?”

 

Michael shakes his head, that little smirk he does when he’s proud of himself curving his lips. “No, but he did help me to understand some of the slang terminology humans use when it comes to sex. There were some very weird phrases.”

 

Because of Michael’s position and height, he is slightly higher than Adam, and he has to lean down to kiss him. Michael finally releases the hold on Adam’s hands, moving his own to Adam’s face, Adam’s hair, Adam’s neck.

 

Adam wraps his arms around Michael’s waist, while turning and lowering them to the couch, so that Michael is on top of him, his weight comfortable against Adam. Their kisses are lips and tongue and teeth, and Michael loves to mark, which shouldn’t be surprising because he likes to write his name on Adam with a Sharpie, but sometimes it still blows Adam’s mind when he wakes up the morning after making out to find marks down his neck and chest.

 

Adam looks up as Michael bites his shoulder and notices that something is wrong. “Where are your wings?”

 

“I hid them. There’s not enough room here.”

 

Adam immediately sits up. “We’re moving to the bed.” Michael’s reactions are a little delayed, but he follows Adam down the hall to the bedroom. Adam pulls off his shirt, and tosses it in the general direction of the dresser. He takes off his shoes and his socks, and then he climbs to the middle of the bed and looks at his mate. “I don’t want you to hide them from me. When it’s just us, I want to see your wings.”

 

Michael nods, murmuring assent. The angel pulls off his shirt, slips off his shoes. The first time Michael had manifested his wings, they had just appeared. This time, Adam watches as his mate unfolds them slowly, extending them fully. Michael’s hands reach out to smooth out a few wayward feathers, and then the angel stands still, watching Adam watch him.

 

They’re beautiful. Adam has seen a few pictures of angel wings in textbooks and on the internet, but Michael’s are so much more beautiful than all of them. Michael’s wings suddenly flap and his lips set into a smug smile. “You like my wings.”

 

“Yeah, Mikey. I love your wings.”

 

“You’re proud of them, proud I have them,” Michael says as he crawls on the bed, the smile never fading. He situates himself in the position they had been previously. Michael bites Adam’s shoulder, his tongue tracing after to soothe the pain.

 

Adam wraps one arm around Michael’s waist, using his right hand to touch Michael’s wings. The wings twitch under his fingertips. Adam can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but Michael doesn’t stop him, so he presses on, raking his fingers through the soft feathers. Michael shudders against him and meets his eyes, causing Adam to still. “No. No, don’t stop.”

 

“Sensitive?” Adam asks, remembering their conversation so long ago. Back then he never imagined he’d actually get to touch Michael’s wings, let alone that he’d be underneath him and call him his mate, his partner, his husband.

 

“Very.” Adam scratches the blunt tips of his fingernails through Michael’s feathers, and the angel keens, the sound high in his throat, and rocks his hips. “Adam,” he groans, capturing Adam’s lips, and muffling his moans against them.

Adam tugs gently, just to see the reaction, and Michael freezes, his muscles seizing up. Before Adam can begin apologizing and begging to never do it again, Michael’s hands are popping the button of Adam’s jeans and pulling them down his hips, his boxer-briefs following them on their trip to the floor. Then Michael pulls his own off, Adam still lightly pulling on the longest feathers.

 

This is new--not just the whole wings thing. They’ve traded handjobs and rutted against each other, but he’s never been completely naked in front of Michael, and vice versa. Adam releases his hold on the feathers to clutch Michael’s bare hips. The angel captures his mouth, nipping at Adam’s lips, as Michael takes them both in his hand.

 

Adam is on overload.

 

He’s had sex before. He’s equipped to deal with the multiple sensations all happening at once. Or he thought he was, because what Adam and Michael are doing is completely different than missionary with a girl he’d spoken to twice before the party.

 

Everything he feels is _Michael Michael Michael_ \--from the bruising kisses, to the slick slide of flesh against his cock, to the wind-light caresses of feathers against his forearms, to the pulsing connection of grace and soul that thumps against his ribs like an extra heartbeat. Everything says that he is Michael’s, and that Michael is his.

 

A flick of Michael’s wrist on the upstroke leaves Adam gasping, and the connection between them widens, filling with every empty spot in his mind and body with Michael. “Look at me,” Michael says quietly, his voice rumbling, and Adam immediately complies, watching the strain of Michael’s arms as they rocked together, Michael’s usually clear green eyes muddled, dark as they only are right before he comes.

 

Michael’s orgasm, the feel of Michael on his skin, under his skin, everywhere, drives Adam over the edge, clutching his mate’s hips as tightly as he can, his fingertips no doubt leaving bruises. The flush of afterglow momentarily distracts him, but when his heartbeat has slowed, Adam finds that he feels excited, even though he doesn’t know why.

 

Adam looks up at the angel who has collapsed on his chest, whose wings are fluttering wildly. Michael’s smile is wide and he looks like he is going to start jumping on the bed. And that’s when Adam gets it.

 

“That’s you?” he asks, eyes wide. “I can feel you.” Adam cups Michael’s cheeks and kisses him softly.

 

“Yeah. That’s me.”

 

Adam tries to push on the connection, but there’s no resistance, and it feels like he is swimming in Michael, drowning in Michael. He can feel happiness and contentment and amusement. He can feel Michael’s love for him.

 

“When? How?”

 

Michael smiles. “I think you know when.”

 

Adam’s brain boggles. “Did you plan this?”

 

Michael does that little smirk he does when he’s proud of himself, but Adam could feel his pride even if he couldn’t see his face. “Castiel suggested it. He said that if you were anywhere near as stubborn as your brother that you would get impatient and huffy if you couldn’t immediately force the bond. He said that sex worked for them. I figured there was no harm in trying.”

 

Adam can feel every emotion coming off of Michael, like wave after wave and never ending. The thought is a little scary, but Adam likes the ocean. His mom had taken him for his tenth birthday. They drove all the way to Virginia Beach, and Adam had stood in the water and felt so small. Michael made him feel that way sometimes, but he wouldn’t trade the days spent in the chilly waves for anything.

 

Michael presses a kiss to Adam’s forehead.

 

“Will the connection always be this strong?” Adam asks.

 

“I don’t know,” Michael says as he continues to press kisses all over Adam’s face. “Distance might affect it. We’ll just have to test it out.”

 

“We can test it later,” Adam mumbles, his eyelids feeling heavy. “Can you sleep next to me without crushing your wings?”

 

“Yes, but you’ll have to be little spoon.” Michael is way too happy about that. It’s not like Adam never let him be big spoon before. He has--once or twice--and it’s not like Adam minds being the little spoon occasionally, because he doesn’t. He likes feeling Michael all around him.

 

“Fine,” Adam says, turning his face into the pillow as Michael slides next to him, his warm arm surrounding Adam’s torso. “I love you, Mikey.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

They fall asleep like that, bodies slotted together, fitting like they were always meant to curl side-by-side, like they were made two pieces made to be one.

 

**

Epilogue

 

 

“Daddy, where’s Papa?”

 

Adam looks at the green-eyed girl who is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, clutching her stuffed lamb. He really needs to wash it, but there isn’t a chance of that happening until she is well enough to go back to preschool. Arabella doesn’t let her little lamb out of her sight on a normal day, but especially not since she’s gotten the flu. “Baby, go lay down on the couch. Your soup is almost done. And your Papa will be here any minute.”

 

Arabella smiles. She’s Papa’s girl through and through, and Adam would be more jealous, but they’re kind of perfect together. Adam ladles a spoonful of chicken and stars into her favorite bright blue bowl and carries it to the coffee table, his daughter following on his heels, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floors.

 

Adam brushes his fingers through Arabella’s dark blonde hair as she eats. It’s matted from sweat and sleeping on it, and she really needs a shower. Maybe he can convince Michael to do it tonight after he fixes her up.

 

Adam feels it in their bond when Michael gets closer. Though he can always feel Michael like a hum in the back of his mind, when he gets about a half mile away, Adam gets a rush of feelings. Within a block, he can pick out distinct emotions. By the time Michael pulls into the driveway, he can tell that Michael had a stressful day, that something at work had frustrated him, and that he’s worried about their daughter. He’s only gotten clear thoughts once or twice.

 

Ara’s wings twitch excitedly when she hears Michael’s car. “Papa’s here,” she says, dropping her spoon in the bowl. She looks like she’d make a run for the door if Adam’s fingers weren’t trying to fix the mess of her hair. Even sick, nothing can keep that girl from Michael.

 

“I’m excited to see Papa too,” Adam tells her, hearing the front door open.

 

“You are?”

 

Adam laughs. “Yes, I am. I love your Papa, and I missed him today.”

 

“I missed you too,” Michael says from behind him. Adam turns to look at his mate, who is wearing a weary smile. “How are you, Ara?”

 

“I’m sick. I don’t want Daddy’s yucky medicine.” Adam rolls his eyes. He and Michael argue about this all the time. Michael insists that he should heal her from every sniffle and cough, but Adam is worried that she’s never going to build up immunity. Michael won’t always be around to take away every paper cut and bruise. She won’t have a tolerance for pain or illness, because Michael coddles her.

 

Michael looks at Adam like he’s afraid it’s going to start an argument, but Adam waves him off. “Do whatever you want. I’m going to go start dinner.” Adam kisses Michael as he makes his way to the kitchen.

 

Through his clanging and clattering, he can hear Michael talking to their daughter, and he can feel it through their bond when he starts healing Ara. Usually, Adam can’t feel it at all because he is at the school when Michael is at the hospital, and they are too far apart for him to get anything other than a buzz from their connection.  After he heals her, Michael takes Ara upstairs for a bath.

 

Even though he had told Adam once that angels hardly ever touched each other, Michael has taken on a more human parent-child relationship with Ara. He gives her piggyback rides and grooms her wings and kisses her nose when he tucks her into bed, and she loves them all. Adam does the same with her, can even groom her wings as well as Michael, though more than a decade of practice with his husband probably helped.

 

Dinner is done by the time Michael comes back down stairs, changed into a pair of Adam’s ratty sweats and a t-shirt. He kisses Adam’s forehead, taking the salad to the table, while Adam scoops out two helping of lasagna onto plates.  “She asleep?” Adam asks as he sets the plate in from of Michael.

 

“Yes. She fell asleep halfway through her bath. I’m surprised she stayed awake long enough for me to get home.”

“As if she would go to bed without saying goodnight to you,” Adam says, blowing on a bite of lasagna. “Will she be well enough to go to school tomorrow?”

 

Michael nods. “Yeah. She should be fine. I’ll call Gabriel tonight and see if they can take her with Luc. Tomorrow is show-and-tell day, right?”

 

Adam isn’t surprised he remembers. Michael’s good with dates. He’s never forgotten a birthday or an anniversary. “Yeah. Two classes in the morning and one right after lunch. And we can order in from the Thai place you like and eat in my office.”

 

“That sounds great.”

 

Adam’s been a professor at KU for the past seven years. It felt weird coming back to Lawrence after establishing a life in Oklahoma City. They’d gone to school there. Adam had gone on to grad school, and even taught Angelology at OU for a few years, while Michael did his residency and worked in the one angel hospital in the state.

 

Then Michael got an offer back in Kansas to head the pediatrics ward at a small angel hospital, and he took it. KU offered Adam all of the Intro to Angelology classes, and he started four days before classes started for the fall semester. Three years later, they had Ara.

 

Show and tell is one day every semester when Michael would visit his class and the students would ask him, and them, questions about angels and bonding--their sex life is a common question, but he’s used to it by now. It doesn’t embarrass him like it used to when nineteen-year-olds were asking about sexual positions that were comfortable for someone with wings.

 

Adam and Michael survived two classes of questions and one lunch and quickie in Adam’s office, before going to Adam’s 2:30 Intro to Angelology class to finish up the day. He introduced Michael to his students and went through his usual spiel about the importance of the class. Then, students passed forward anonymous questions, which Adam collected in a coffee mug.

 

**When and how did you meet?**

 

Adam handed the question to Michael for him to answer. Michael glanced at him, his cheeks still flushed from their rushed handjobs. “We met when we were fourteen, in freshman English. We were assigned a poem to analyze and the teacher paired us together. He was one of the first humans I ever spoke to.”

 

**Have there been people who didn’t want you together?**

Adam answers as he passes the slip of paper to his mate. “Yes, but at the same time, we’ve been really lucky. My older brothers both bonded with angels.”

 

“May I answer as well?” Michael asks, and Adam tries not to roll his eyes. As if he was going to stop Michael from answering. He nods instead. “My father wanted me to bond with an angel. He was very adamant about it, even picked out suitable matches for me. After I chose Adam over him, he and I didn’t talk for a decade. Now, we have a much better relationship. He accepts my decision.”

 

A girl in the front row, Becky, raises her hand. Michael points to her. “What made you and your dad start talking again?”

 

“The birth of our daughter. She’s four, and she loves her Pop-pop. That’s what she calls my dad,” Michael says.

 

Becky’s hand shoots up again, and Adam acknowledges her. “What about your dad, Dr. Milligan? What does your daughter call him?”

 

Michael gives him a sad smile. “Neither my daughter nor I have a relationship with my father. Michael’s father is the only grandparent she has, though Ara has lots of uncles and three cousins. She has a family who loves her.”

 

Adam takes Michael’s hand, squeezing it tight, and meeting his eyes for several long seconds, before he grabs another slip of paper. **What’s the best thing about your bond?**

 

“Ara.,” Michael says instantly. “Our daughter. She is born of our bond, and I love her immensely. We both do. We put off children for a long time, but I couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s my favorite thing,” Adam says, “but something that has really been good for me is that I can feel what Michael feels. When I’m being stupid or lashing out or blocking him out, I can feel how it frustrates him and saddens him and makes him what to kick my ass, and it helps. It really does. He doesn’t even have to tell me when he’s upset, I know. I know that right now he’s nervous because no matter how many years he’s spent around people, his instincts are to be wary of humans. At the same time though, he’s happy. He likes our show-and-tell day, mostly because he likes to embarrass me. I can feel him. And, while sometimes it’s annoying, it’s also really comforting.”

 

**Would you change anything about your bonding?**

“No,” Adam says with absolute certainty. Has their relationship been perfect or easy or smooth? No, but Adam expects nothing different from his life. Still, he and Michael have been bonded for fifteen years, and they fit so well, so perfectly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”


End file.
